A Really Big Fish
by Atypicall
Summary: Set in ATF/AU. An undercover assignment yield a new ally and a big problem for the Seven. Crossover theWW.
1. A New Ally, One Big Fish

Title:  
Warnings: Language, violence  
Author's Note: This is my first foray into the ATF/AU. This story has been playing around in my head for a while and I just wanted to get it down. I bring with me my original character Sam, although her role changes a bit. Eventually I want this to become a crossover with The West Wing. If you want to use Sam, go ahead.  
Disclaimer: I don't own them so please don't sue. Thanks to Mog for coming up with this wonderful place to play.   
Archive: Sure, I'd be thrilled.  
'_' Thoughts  
  
~~~~~  
  
It was hot, not blistering hot, but definitely hotter than she thought Colorado would be in April. She drove down I-25 with the top of her 1971 metallic blue Corvette convertible rolled down and let the air billow through her hair. She leaned her head on her hand and her elbow on the ridge of her window. The Rolling Stones blasted out of her speakers and her head bobbed to the music, even though she wasn't really thinking about it.  
  
The mountains rose on her right, a majestic sight even a few miles away from her. The sky above the towering peaks was a brilliant blue, while the sky over the city was hazy and brown. Denver reminded her of any other city, although it was not so large or so grand as New York or LA. Denver just seemed safer, the streets a little cleaner. Maybe it was the fact that this was one of the few big cities where a person could see skintight Wrangler jeans or a cowboy hat on the streets. Hell, she thought to herself, they even have some sort of big rodeo every year, smack dab in the middle of the city. She was hard pressed to believe that anything of such importance could happen here, even though she knew it was.  
  
This was the last time. She made the promise to herself before she left California. 'I have done what they asked of me countless times and after this I am through.' She pulled the convertible off the highway and looked one more time at the address she had written down. She pulled into the right lane, cutting off a massive truck. She ignored it.  
  
She arrived at the warehouse half an hour after getting off the freeway. The section of the city that she had just entered reminded her of the ghettos she had been to before. It was dirty and the buildings dilapidated, crumbling slowly around disintegrating stone frames. The streets hadn't seen a new coat of tarmac in years, and rough looking teens stood lazily on the street corners.  
  
She turned off the road into the small parking lot of a closed down Laundromat. She spotted three other expensive looking cars hidden among the shadows, including one Beamer and a Jag. The meeting was about to get under way. She got out of the car, locking it tightly behind her. She undid her hair from its ponytail and let the wavy copper hair cascade down her back. She pocketed her sunglasses inside her leather jacket and stepped through the door. A small bell rang above her head.  
  
Five sets of eyes turned to look at her. Two men stood near the back of the dusty room. One was tall and burly with arms the size of grapefruits who stared blankly at her from a scarred, ugly face. The other man was fairly young, perhaps in his late twenties, with intense blue eyes and long, curly blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. She would have immediately dismissed both as hired muscle, if not for the intelligent gleam of the younger man's eyes.  
  
One dark, brawny man held a deadly looking Mac-10 in his hands. He leveled the weapon at her when she came it. She ignored him and looked at the last two men, for they were the ones that interested her. They were the brains, the businessmen. One had to be her employer.  
  
One's eyes cast over her like a beam, evaluating her as she did him. His unbelievable emerald green orbs showed not a single hint of emotion, nor did his distinctly handsome face. After glancing at her for a moment, he returned his attention to wiping away invisible specks of dust from his immaculate Armani suit. The other man, blonde, short and stout, was equally well dressed. He stood up from inspecting the weapon.  
  
She smiled, not fazed in the least. She held out her hand. "Mr. White I presume?"  
  
The blonde cocked his head to one side. "I find it healthier not to presume anything. Do you have identification to prove that you're Samantha Walters?"  
  
"Of course." She began to dig through her bag. "One in your position can't be too careful. But yes, I am Samantha Walters. You called me for a job. No details, just the promise of a lot of money. Now I'm here. I want details. Now, are you Mr. White or not? Cause if you're not, I'm wasting my time."  
  
"I am Mr. White, and you will have your details shortly. You must realize of course that this is just a preliminary meeting. My employer, who prefers to remain nameless at this point found his last bunch of servicemen less than satisfying. So he gathered information to start anew. You are all the result. Please, take a seat. Now that we are all here we can start."  
  
Sam nodded coolly and sat next to the green-eyed man without looking at him. "Gentlemen, and lady, you have been invited here because you are all the best at what you do. And my employer wants only the best. I suppose introductions are in order."  
  
He gestured to the two men at the back wall. "These two are the finest muscle in the West. That, is John Gader, and the man to his right is Vin Turner. Turner used to be a leg breaker for the Roshin cartel in Chicago. He's moved up in the world since then. The man holding the firearm is Benny Rodriguez. He can find and get anything we need. Eric Stanley is my assistant, as well as being the most gifted con man born in the last fifty years. And our lovely lady friend is Samantha Walters. She is rather multitalented. Started as jewel thief in her teens and since then has gained the reputation for being able to get around security systems, any security system. You all know me already, Thomas White."  
  
Stanley looked rather bored and began to twirl a ballpoint pen around his fingers. Turner tapped his foot. "Look. If we pull this off right, we're all gonna be rich. The problem though, is pulling this off. Benny here has already shown us some weapons that he has at his current disposal. Unfortunately, they don't suit the needs of our buyer."   
  
Rodriguez scowled. "So what do you need? Anything you needs, I can gets."  
  
"Exactly what I was hoping you'd say. We will be needing the items on this paper." He withdrew a folded sheet of legal paper from his pocket and slid it across the table to the arms supplier. Benny's eyes grew suddenly wide. Eric suddenly straightened, craning his neck to see the list. Sam tried to get a look too.  
  
"What you are asking," he let out a breath, "will not be easy to find."  
  
"But you can find it?" White prompted.  
  
"Si, but I can guarantee that these weapons will be under heavy guard. They will not be easy to get to."  
  
White smiled, almost patronizingly. "That's why she's here. You find us the goods. She'll get us in." The corner of her lip twitched in an odd half smile. Hazel eyes glimmered at the compliment. "All right, that's it for today. I know where you can be reached, and I want you ready for the call."  
  
"That's it? You're not gonna tell us anything else?" Turner asked.  
  
"You will be informed when and as I see fit. Right now you don't need to know. Good day gentlemen."  
  
Grumbling, Turner and Stanley left and took off in the Jag. Rodriguez hopped inside his Mustang. White stopped Samantha as she reached the door. "Wait Walters. I don't have your number yet since you just came into town. Where can I reach you?"  
  
Samantha pulled a card out of her pocket. "This is my cell. Reach me here day or night. The number below it is for my pager. When I get my phone installed I'll tell you. That all?"  
  
White eyed the woman hungrily. Samantha just smiled and nudged his eyes up. "Not on your life Tommy boy." Then she left, tearing out of the lot in her Corvette and heading back the way she'd come, out of the city.  
  
--  
  
"Well?" ATF special agent Chris Larabee demanded as his two undercover agents stepped off the elevator. Vin Tanner had pulled his hair from the pony tail and stood beside the team leader with the shirt taken out of his pants. He still wasn't comfortable, but it was a hell of a lot better than before. Ezra Standish fixed Larabee with an even stare and walked right past to his desk on the far side of the, bullpen, as they liked to call it.  
  
"It was a first meeting Cowboy, relax. We weren't gonna find out anything anyway, you knew that."  
  
"That is not entirely true Mr. Tanner. We did learn the names of our associates in this venture, and that is one better than we were before the meeting." Ezra finished and began to root around the bottom drawer of his desk.  
  
"Think you could tell me their names Ezra? Or would that be too much trouble for ya?" Chris's voice dripped with sarcasm and his steely blue eyes bore into the agents back.  
  
Ezra righted himself, a triumphant look on his face as he wielded a lint brush. "No, no trouble at all Mr. Larabee. I will need to talk to Mr. White on his choice of location however. The decorum was truly lacking. I will have to have this suit dry cleaned I fear." The southerner began to brush the back of his suit jacket with the lint brush.  
  
JD Dunne, the youngest member of the ATF's Team Seven stopped typing. He tilted his head and gave the undercover agent a curious look. "Has anyone ever told you you're anal Ez?"  
  
Ezra shot JD a withering glance. "No Mr. Dunne, I believe you to be the first. Perhaps you will understand the day you grow up and get yourself a real suit. Although with your cohort as a role model I doubt that will happen anytime soon." Ezra referred to Buck Wilmington, JD's partner and best friend who was sincerely a kid at heart.  
  
Chris cleared his throat. Sometimes his agents were too much. They had absolutely no focus some days. It happened to Ezra more than most, but not by much. It was a wonder he hadn't gone bald from stress. Although there was that clump of hair in the shower last week.... "The names Ezra."  
  
"I hope you realize Mr. Larabee, that it would have been exceedingly more prudent to ask Mr. Tanner. He is standing right beside you."  
  
"I didn't ask Vin. I asked you." There it was, the no nonsense Larabee tone the team leader got when he was particularly annoyed. Ezra knew it well. Standish smiled.  
  
"There were four at the meet, not including Mr. Tanner and myself. Thomas White is the one who called us all together. Seems his director wants to put together a new team of criminals for a big job he has lined up."  
  
"Criminals huh Ez?" Buck Wilmington, an exceedingly outgoing agent grinned wildly as he came out of the break room. "You ought to fit in perfectly there."  
  
"Are you saying that I am a common delinquent Mr. Wilmington?"  
  
"Well," his tongue licked his lips, "maybe not common."  
  
"Enough you two. Keep goin Ezra."  
  
"Ah yes. He called in a big muscle bound incompetent named John Gader. Seems to have little in the way of intellect. He doesn't really talk, just sort of grunts. Benny Rodriguez is the link to the firearms in the area. The ATF has dealt with him before, but he's never high up and usually gets light jail time in exchange for testimony. He's a rat, but he knows everyone in Colorado and the states surrounding us. The last character is rather interesting. I've never heard of her, not even by reputation. An ex jewel thief by the name of Samantha Walters."  
  
"Get on it JD," Larabee growled. JD turned back to his screen, but kept one ear on the conversation. "Is that it? No links to the boss or buyer?"  
  
"Unfortunately, that information is under wraps for the moment. Word around town is that whoever this boss is, he's a real security freak. We probably won't know anything until just before it happens. Hopefully, we can get through this deal and start to make our way toward the leader's identity. I did happen to peruse the catalog of items Rodriguez is supposed to find however. Quite interesting."  
  
"Interesting how?"  
  
"The list is not what one would normally expect at a gun deal. There was no demand for Uzi's or assault rifles. These people are in the market for grenade launchers, explosives and sniper rifles."  
  
Chris raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. 'What on earth could gang bangers and gun runners want with that?' he thought to himself. He was still pondering it when JD grabbed a sheaf of papers from the printer beside his desk.  
  
"I got it!" JD waved the papers in the air. "Three names and their sheets. White has been caught for embezzlement and stuff like that, but nothing serious. Gader's an ex-Marine holding a grudge. He got kicked out ten years ago for beating a man to death during a training Op. Got out on some technicality, but his career was over. Rodriguez, petty theft, assault and gun trafficking, but nothing recent. Funny though..."  
  
"What's funny?" Vin asked, point blank. Funny usually meant unexpected trouble, something he loathed. Funny meant hospital trips.  
  
"Walters. She's got no record." Chris eyed him suspiciously. JD shrugged in response. "I ran the search twice. There is absolutely nothing on her, not even a traffic ticket."  
  
Chris's expression darkened. "That could mean a few things. Either this woman is very, very good and has never been caught, is using an alias or..."  
  
"She's never left anyone to testify against her." Vin finished Larabee's thought. "Which means she could be very dangerous."  
  
Larabee stalked toward his office. "Run that search again JD, through every search engine, FBI, CIA, DEA, whatever. And you two," he looked pointedly at Ezra and Vin. "You two watch each others back. Meeting in my office in two hours. I want your reports in my hands."  
  
Vin glanced over at Ezra, who was staring blankly at the wall. "What's wrong Ez?"  
  
"It's nothing really, just a feeling." He locked eyes with the long haired man. "I get the feeling that we're in deeper than we ever imagined." Ezra was not one for hunches Vin knew, but when he got one, they were usually spot on. It made Vin nervous.  
  
--  
  
White called everyone together for a meeting three days later. By the time Ezra and Vin arrived at the Laundromat the other four were already pouring over a set of blueprints. "What's up?" Ezra asked.   
  
"Rodriguez found us a mark," White told him gruffly.  
  
"Yeah man-o. Word is that a shipment of munitions is being stored in a warehouse outside the city. Would have been stored at the Arsenal, but with all the hype over those bomblets, the all mighty muck mucks on the Hill decided it would be better for all concerned if the weapons were stored elsewhere. They're only in town for a few more days anyway. Governments shipping the load down to New Mexico at the end of the week. A little bird in the team told me."  
  
"Is it possible to conceive of our readiness in such a short amount of time?" Ezra inquired.  
  
"This is our best shot at getting what we need Stanley," Walters snapped. "Unless you doubt my abilities to get us in." It was a challenge and Ezra knew it.  
  
"How can I doubt you? I don't even know you. But my experience..."  
  
"I don't give a crap about your experience," she cut him off. "Follow my plan and you'll come out with your hide intact. It's a Sam Walters guarantee. I've already staked the joint. The place is a mess, but surrounded by solid fencing. It's new," she scoffed. "They might as well have put up a sign, ''Hey, rob me.'' It's well guarded with men inside."  
  
"Have you actually been inside?" Ezra questioned.  
  
"It's called a window genius." Sam snapped. Her right hand reached up to rub her temple. She felt the oncoming twinge of a migraine, her fourth in as many days. She shook her head to clear her mind. "The night shift from Six till two is our best shot. Five guys, all armed and all well trained. We can come in here," she placed her finger on a portion of the blueprint. "Under the fence. There is one door, reinforced steel with an electronic lock. I can get around the cameras. I can get in through there and make my way to the basement, where the circuit breakers are. When I cut the power, the perimeter cameras and lights will go, same as the inside. We'll have six or seven minutes before the backup generator kicks in. That's when we move. Take down each soldier, one at a time, but no shots, or we'll have every cop and two-bit hood on us in an instant. We can take them down in the dark. Hey Benny?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Think you're little bird would mind if we borrowed a truck?"  
  
The dealer grinned, showing off two missing teeth. "Not so long as we thank him right."  
  
"Good. We can load the goods in the truck and be gone on the freeway before anyone knows what happened. I figure we have another van waiting for us. We transfer the arms and dump the truck outside the city. Make it look like we're tryin to get out of state, then we can circle back. We play our cards right and we can be out in twenty minutes, tops."  
  
Benny smiled and clapped her on the back. "You are good. Efficient. I like that."  
  
"Thanks." He eyes shifted to Ezra, who watched her carefully. "Think you can bring yourself to break a sweat? I mean, you might even get dirty pretty boy."  
  
Ezra's lips thinned as he scowled. "I believe I can manage."  
  
"I hope you're cocky enough to take on a trained Marine my friend. Wouldn't do for you to turn tail and run in the pinch."  
  
Ezra stood. "I won't run." He said darkly. "I hope the same can be said for you. If that is all, I will take my leave of you gentlemen." Stanley stalked to the door. Turner looked as though he might follow, but eventually stayed in place.  
  
"We're doin this tonight pretty boy! I want you here at ten sharp. And by the way, you probably want to wear black!" She called cheerily. Ezra leaped into his Jag and gunned the engine. Sam had a feeling. "I'll be on my way too. I want to check out the warehouse one more time. See you all here at ten." Sam rushed out the door.  
  
Benny turned to White. "You know, I like him. I like her too, but the two of them together...that worries me."  
  
"Don't be. They're professionals."  
  
"Hey," Benny put his hands up, "just so long as I get paid."  
  
Samantha eyed the highway before her. It wasn't hard to spot the dark purple Jag among the rest of the traffic. It darted in and out of lanes like a racecar. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator, noting that her needle hovered near ninety. The Corvette's powerful, rehauled engine roared as she guided it between cars. She had to drive very well to even keep the Jag in sight. Stanley was driving mad. "I must've struck a nerve." She muttered to herself.  
  
Sam almost missed the turn when the Jag got off the freeway. Sam dropped the car into a lower gear and took cover behind a large SUV. Traffic was light, and she suddenly wished she had a less conspicuous vehicle. They were deep in the heart of the Denver business district. This part of the city was much nicer than the one they'd just left. Towering, well maintained skyscrapers cast shadows across the street. The Jag turned a corner. Sam followed, but when she made the turn she discovered the Jag had disappeared.  
  
Sam cruised slowly down the street, furious at having lost her target. 'Had he spotted the tail?' Then she noticed the garage. She parked the Corvette a few blocks down the street and hoofed it back on foot. She slipped under the security rail. Sure enough, on the third level of the garage, sat the purple sports car. It was parked between a motorcycle and a dilapidated looking truck on its last legs. Sam went to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.  
  
The elevator deposited her in an open, well-lit lobby. Sam looked around, making sure that no one had spotted her. A large plaque with the names of the offices in the building hung beside a desk. She scanned the names, rejecting each as she went along. "No, no, oh he couldn't possibly be an IRS agent." She turned her attention to the receptionist. "Excuse me Miss?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Does that parking garage serve only this building? I'm looking for a friend of mine you see, and he parks in there, but I can't seem to find his business on this chart."  
  
The receptionist shrugged. "I'm not really sure what to tell you. That garage serves only this building, and the ATF building to the other side of it. If the name isn't on the plaque, it's not here."  
  
ATF. Three little letters bounced around in her head. He was ATF. Damn, that could make matters complicated. "Thanks." Sam pulled her cell from her pocket and headed back into the sunlight toward her car. Thomas White answered after two rings. "Hello? We got ourselves a problem...he's ATF. No... No let's wait on that a bit. He could still prove useful... besides, I got a plan so we can be sure... Yeah, I'll see you tonight."  
  
--  
  
Ezra splashed water onto his face and groaned softly. Chris wanted the team together by nine that morning to discuss plans for the bust, when it eventually went down. The previous night had gone smoothly, as Samantha had predicted, and Ezra begrudgingly admitted to himself that the woman was quite adept at what she did. She did it well, without fanfare or ovation, and seemed to enjoy herself. He could understand, after all, he got a rush from being undercover.  
  
He himself had arrived home only four hours earlier, and had left himself an hour to change, and get into work. It wasn't that he wasn't used to long hours, but he hadn't slept well for over a week, and the constant vigilant hours were beginning to wear on him.  
  
Ezra ran the electric razor over his jaw and upper lip, still barely what could be qualified as awake. He was bleary eyed and tired, bone tired, the kind of tired that made a person just sink. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a mess, and fine lines had begun to develop around his mouth. 'Hell,' he thought to himself, 'I found a couple of gray hairs yesterday. Gray! I'm not even forty yet, not quite 31 actually.' He'd been under for a little over a month. He'd gone much longer with less caustic effects.  
  
"So then why," he asked his mirror image, "is this case making me so flustered? Hell, why am I talking to myself? I think I'm losing it." Ezra sighed. Then he stood tall, his eyes firing sparks as he thought of something else. "And what gives that reprobate Walters the right to accuse me of running? She doesn't know me, but then, maybe she does. I did run once."  
  
Ezra's shoulders sagged. There was a time in his life where running seemed like a good option. He'd even run out on Larabee and team Seven once. 'But only once', he reminded himself, 'I came back. I'm not that person anymore.' Truer words were never spoken, or thought. Ezra Standish had found his place in life with Team Seven. With those six other men, he was no longer an outsider, a rogue. They were his family, and although he would never admit that to them, he thought they knew.   
  
Ezra glanced lazily at his watch. 8:37. The numbers ran through his mind again, 8:37! "Shit." Standish threw his toothbrush into the sink. He personally didn't mind being late, but he knew Larabee would pitch a fit if he came in late for the fourth time in one week. Standish hastily grabbed a new shirt and put it on after practically tearing off the old one. He chose his custom Italian suit from the wrack. After a few quick runs through his hair with a comb, he was out the door.  
  
Larabee only lifted one eyebrow when the undercover agent sauntered in, late as usual. Ezra's face remained impassive, but Larabee barely suppressed a grin. For the most part the southerner looked perfectly normal, but upon seeing him, Vin began to chuckle. Josiah smiled softly. Nathan rolled his eyes. Buck and JD laughed outright. "Would the rest of you mind informing me of what you find so amusing?"  
  
"Look at your feet Ez." Vin said quietly.  
  
Standish gazed down and sucked in a breath. His one weakness. The undercover agent was just as perfectly groomed and turned out as always, except for one thing. He was wearing his favorite set of loafers. He was wearing the set of loafers that he had had for years and liked to lounge around in. The shoes were scuffed and worn out, the sole paper thin. The tongue of the right shoe was torn and his big toe stuck through the front of his left shoe.  
  
Ezra sighed and closed his eyes. Never had he meant for anyone to ever see these shoes. They were neither real leather, nor Italian, but still remained the most comfortable pair of footwear he owned. 'Not to mention,' he scolded himself, 'that you forgot to put on socks.'  
  
"I'm very sorry Mr. Larabee. It seems as though I have forgotten my socks." There, he'd said it, flat out and with a straight face. Lord he was tired.  
  
"Go home Ezra." Chris told him.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Go home. I can get what I need from Vin. You're exhausted. Get some sleep."  
  
Part of him wanted to protest, to show that he could make it through the day. But another part of him, the larger part ached for the comfort of a mattress. The larger part of him won out. "Yes sir." He didn't want to argue, he just wanted to sleep.  
  
It was then that Larabee realized exactly how worn down the undercover agent was. He never expected Ezra to go home without some sort of fight. He blinked. "All right then." He shooed Ezra from his office and continued with the meeting.   
  
Ezra had made it to his car when his cell phone rang. He flipped it open, "Hello?"  
  
"Stanley, it's White. Our buyers have set up the meet."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning at five AM." Standish rubbed his temples with his right hand. That gave him and the others less than twenty-four hours to form a plan. His gut twisted. He didn't like where this was headed. It was too fast and he wanted to know why.  
  
"Tomorrow? Why so soon?"  
  
"It's not your job to ask questions Stanley. I don't pay you to think about things like that."  
  
"I may as well bring to your attention, that, up to this point, you have not paid me at all."  
  
"Look, this is the way it is. We got the product. They want the goods, ASAP. Understood?"  
  
"Where will we be meeting?"  
  
"Walters and Gader will bring the weaponry to a warehouse on the East side of the city. You and Turner be there at four to help them unload. Benny and I are coming with the buyers. I want you to have everything ready."  
  
"Sounds good. I'll see you in the morning." Ezra jotted down the warehouse address. Then he snapped the phone shut. He looked longingly from his car to the elevator doors. He gave a long-suffering sigh. "There is no rest for the weary. Won't Mr. Larabee be surprised to have me back in his company so soon? Aagh, I'm doing it again. Stop talking to yourself!"....  
  
"...Look Ezra, I don't want to send you in there without a wire!" Larabee exclaimed to the stubborn agent late that afternoon. "All the windows in that building are boarded up. We won't be able to see anything. If you get in trouble there will be no way for us to know. It's bad enough you won't wear a vest."  
  
"Yes, I am positively certain that these criminals won't notice the bulging body armor underneath my haberdashery. And we have gone over this before. This man, the boss, is a stickler for security. I would bet that alarms would go off the minute anyone with a wire even stepped foot on the premises."  
  
That made Chris shut his mouth. As Ezra put it, "I abhor gambling, and therefore leave nothing to chance." If Ezra said he bet, then he was sure. "Fine," he relented. "We won't put a wire on you, but we're putting a transmitter on Vin. It doesn't have to be on, and no one will notice it on a scan if it remains off. You hear me Vin? One thing goes wrong in there and I want you to activate that sensor."   
  
"Sure Chris."  
  
"That okay with you?" He asked sarcastically.  
  
Ezra shrugged. "Whatever you think is best Mr. Larabee." His voice was utterly bland, as if the argument had never taken place. Standish just had to have the last word, even if he had lost the battle. Chris could have strangled him, but he refrained.  
  
"Good. Buck and JD will be in the van. Josiah is a drunk on the street corner and I will be on the roof of the apartment building across the street. Nathan is covering the back. We're only taking down the buyers people, not the dealers. We want the boss, but I'll be damned before I let a bunch of trigger happy nuts off with a bunch of government arms. Understood?"  
  
Everyone mumbled an affirmative. "All right. Go home and get some rest. You all know where to be and when you need to be there, so do it. JD, pick up the van tonight and put your bike in Buck's truck. Everyone else, get out of here."  
  
Ezra went home and immediately crashed on his couch. It was barely 8 pm. It was enough for him to know that he would have to be up again in six and a half hours. His head hit the pillow, and he started to snore.  
  
--  
  
Vin and Ezra arrived at the warehouse at four AM sharp the next morning. Vin looked as he always did before a deal, mildly apprehensive, but excited at the same time. His eyes danced.  
  
Ezra looked a great deal better than he had the day before. Six solid hours of sleep had refreshed his body and mind more than he thought possible. That, combined with the added aide of a lot of caffeine had made his senses just as keen as always.  
  
Walters and the brute Gader were waiting inside. Walters scowled when she saw Ezra; she hoped her plan would work. "Good of you two to show up. Help Gader with the door Stanley. Turner, I need to run something by you."  
  
'That woman, is profoundly more irritating than JD hyped up on caffeine.' Ezra grudgingly moved toward the unmarked white van. He unlocked the sliding door and pushed up. The spring took the door from his hands, drawing the door up. Ezra was in shock. The van was empty, save two men, and the deadly 9mm pointed between his eyes.  
  
"What's going on Thomas?" Ezra asked coolly, fighting to keep fear from his voice. He felt the pistol barrel press on his forehead and he obediently stepped back. White climbed down from the van, his aim unwavering. Rodriguez followed.  
  
"You sure he's ATF?" White asked someone over his shoulder. Ezra flinched as he heard three more guns being cocked. Vin stared at him, trying to read his eyes. Ezra gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not yet.  
  
"I'm sure." Walters stepped behind him and shoved the barrel of her gun into his lower back. "I followed him into the city. Didn't they ever teach you to spot a tail in the academy?" She clucked her tongue. "Very sloppy."  
  
"You think this is the only one?"  
  
Sam cast a meaningful look in Vin's direction. "Yeah, I'd say he works alone. Want me to get rid of him Tom?"  
  
"That would not be prudent." Ezra interjected. "I'm afraid there are ATF agents surrounding this entire edifice. Escape will not come easily."  
  
Sam grinned maniacally. "That's where you're wrong. Right about now, you're man covering the back should be busy with a dealing with a hysterical woman screaming over a lost child. I cover all the angles when I make a plan. And you know what else? Without you testify, your friends can't touch us. No weapons, no proof, no corroborating witnesses. Get my gist?"  
  
"Perfectly."   
  
"Good. Gader, you're with me. Move it Stanley, or whatever your name is. Hands above your head." Ezra complied, eyes flicking back and forth, looking for a way out. Vin put his hand in his jacket pocket, but Ezra shook his head again.   
  
Gader walked over to the undercover agent and pulled his arms behind his back, wrenching them painfully. Standish grimaced. 'Damn, handcuffs I could get out of, but rope is tricky.' Once his hands were securely tied, Walters prodded him forward, toward the back door. Ezra glanced over at Vin and nodded. Then he was being pushed through the back door and out onto the dark street. A single bulb illuminated the sidewalk a few blocks down the road. Other than that, the night was pitch black.  
  
Ezra only hoped that Vin would be all right, and that they hadn't sent the signal too late. "One wrong move or noise and you're a dead man." Samantha warned.  
  
"I believe that I'm a dead man anyway. What do you plan to do, kill me twice?"  
  
His jaw snapped shut and he grimaced as a meaty fist plunged into his side. "True," she snarled, "but you have two choices. Die quick and easy, or I can make this experience very painful for you." The small group approached a waiting SUV tucked away in a vacant lot. "Get in."  
  
Gader climbed in to the driver's side and Samantha herded Ezra in the back, sliding over to sit next to him. The four by four rumbled to life and Gader guided it from the lot in first without headlights. Once they reached a side street he flipped on the lights and took off for the freeway. Ezra craned his neck to look back the way they'd come, but no one was following them. His heart sank. "Forget it, they're not coming. It's just the three of us going for a little mountain drive. Too bad only two of us are coming back."  
  
--  
  
Nathan approached the team leader carefully, not wanting the blonde man's rage to be turned on him. Chris was yelling deafeningly at the lean sharpshooter. "What the hell were you thinking Vin? I told you to press that remote the minute anything went south."  
  
"Ezra told me to wait," Vin said feebly in his own defense. Chris would probably never know how hard it had been for Vin to refrain for calling in the backup.  
  
"And you listened to him? Damn it Vin, you know that man has more of an ego than the entire department. He probably thinks that he can get out of anything. Ezra hates to think that he needs help, even when he does. I thought you had better judgment than that." Vin looked down at his shoes.  
  
"This isn't all his fault you know Chris." The ex-medic said quietly. "Had I not been distracted they never would have gotten him out the door. Blame me, not Vin."  
  
Buck approached the bickering men. "Would the lot of you just quit! It ain't gonna do Ezra any good for you all to be yelling at one another. You can always play this game the, what if or the maybe, but the fact of the matter is no one is really to blame. Nathan any one of us would have gone with that woman. She tricked you. And you Vin, even if you did have it to so all over again, you'd most likely do the same thing. Ezra's so damn self assured a person could be tricked right easy to see that he had the situation under control. I for one would have waited. Ez has good instincts, and I trust him to know what he's doing. So all of you just stop."  
  
Three sets of eyes stared at the tall, mustached man. "What?"  
  
"It's nothing Buck. It just scares us when you start to make the most sense of anyone in the room," Nathan explained. "But he's right. This won't do Ezra any good. We need to find out where she's taking him and find them."  
  
Chris nodded. "All right then. Vin, you and Nathan go question our suspects. Lean on 'em a little if you need to. In the meantime Buck, you and I are going to start a search. Let's find our agent."   
  
--  
  
"All right Gader, this is far enough. There's a little road up there that winds up in the hills. Head up there." The car jolted as it turned onto the bumpy dirt road. Samantha looked over at her prisoner. Ezra was staring vacantly out the window.  
  
They drove another mile or so into the mountains before Sam called upon the man to stop. The sun was beginning to crest over the horizon, but there, deep in the tree line the suns rays did little to illuminate the earth.  
  
"Get out of the car."  
  
"DO I have to? I was quite enjoying our little jaunt into the mountains."  
  
"Get out of the car." Her tone left no room for argument. "Stay here Gader. I'll be back soon. I'm gonna take him a little deeper into the woods, so when they find him, if they find him, not even his own mother will recognize him."  
  
"Well if that is your only intention, may I suggest that you need not trouble yourself so. My mother barely recognizes me as is."  
  
"I should have opted for a gag. Now shut up, you're giving me a headache." And so they marched, single file with Standish leading into the woods. Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under their feet. Ezra gauged them to be maybe a half mile from the car when Sam stopped him. "Okay, here's as good as anywhere. Turn around."  
  
Ezra faced her, his muscles tensing as he looked for an opening in her defenses. He would only get one shot. Sam reached down for something in her boot when she noticed the agent start to move. He charged at her, head forward and shoulders down, but she sidestepped him easily, sweeping his legs from under him as he passed. He went down hard. Sam shook her head as she pulled the large hunting knife from a sheath on her ankle. "Cute, not smart, but cute."  
  
"Are you planning to gut me with that or just use it for show?" Ezra asked dryly.  
  
"Neither, now hold still." Samantha bent over and slit the ropes binding his wrists.  
  
"If you think I'll run, forget it. I won't give you the pleasure of shooting me in the back."  
  
"You hold yourself in very high esteem. I don't care about you enough to plan something like that. I may be a lot of things, but I'm no killer. Take off your jacket." Now curious, Ezra complied with no fuss. He handed it to her gingerly.  
  
Sam laid the jacket on the ground and took aim with her pistol. "You can't. That jacket is Armani!"  
  
Samantha raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious. It's the jacket, or I can take off a finger." She shrugged, "Either way."  
  
Ezra sighed his shoulders slumped over with resignation. "Fine, but I shall not bear witness to such a travesty." He turned so his back was to the woman. The shot rang out, echoing among the rocks.  
  
It was easy for Sam to sneak up behind him. He was muttering something about another fine suit ruined and not paying attention. She raised the butt of the pistol and brought it down against the base of his skull. His legs sank from beneath him and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.   
  
"Sorry about that, but it wouldn't do for you to follow me. And having you out makes this much easier." Samantha stowed her weapon and brandished the hunting blade. The razor sharp edge sliced Ezra's palm like a surgical tool. She wiped first the blade on the jacket, then squeezed blood from his palm, dripping it all around the bullet hole. She patted Ezra's shoulder. "See you back in the city boy-o. You'll have a nasty headache, but you have to consider the other options. Bye for now."  
  
Sam slid the knife back into its sheath. She looked back once at the fallen man. Then she jogged back down the trodden path to Gader and the waiting SUV.  
  
--  
  
Samantha smiled as she and Gader pulled into the Laundromat lot. Her car was parked inside a storage facility and her keys were hidden inside. She was tired. All she wanted was to go home and rest, for she knew she would have a lot of explaining to do later. She'd messed up. The thought of going through such an experience again was enough to make her stomach roll. Sleep seemed like such a blissful oblivion when compared to the harsh realities of her life.  
  
Sam mumbled a goodbye to the bodyguard and ambled slowly to the Laundromat. She opened the door and flicked on the lights. She nearly jumped out of her skin when several different voices yelled at once, "This is the ATF, freeze!"  
  
Four heads popped up, all leveling guns at her. Her jaw dropped and she raised her hands meekly above her head. A young man, perhaps twenty came at her with a set of handcuffs. A tall blonde man with cold eyes stalked over to her. Two others flanked him, covering him.  
  
Her eyes traveled to the long haired man in a T-shirt and jeans. The last time she'd seen him he had been wearing a suit with his hair pulled back. "So you're one of them. I should have known."  
  
"That is the least of your problems at the moment." The darkly clad man growled. Those eyes bore into hers. She felt herself squirm. "Where is my agent?"  
  
"I've got no idea what you're talking about."  
  
Chris opened his mouth, but stopped when the bell of the store jingled. Buck entered, his face pale. He held a crumpled garment in his hands. Sam closed her eyes. "We got the driver Chris, but...." His voice trailed off. "We found this in the back. There's a bullet hole and a lot of blood.  
  
"That's brother Ezra's jacket." Josiah chimed in.  
  
Chris spun at Sam, his eyes nearly red with fury. His voice remained at a deathly cool cadence, never rising. "Where is my agent?"  
  
"Look," she began, "you don't understand."  
  
"Get her out of my sight Vin, before I do something I may regret tomorrow."  
  
Vin's face was somber when he grabbed Samantha's arm. He hadn't taken her for a killer. JD and Buck followed out to the ATF Suburban. JD looked stricken. Samantha shut her mouth. There was no point. There would be no point in talking to any of them until tempers settled and they began to think rationally. She hoped she wasn't going to be around long enough for them to get to that point.  
  
Buck drove while Vin and JD flanked her on either side. Sam kept her eyes fixed in front of her, while her hands worked at one seam on her jeans. She worked the stitching loose and felt the tiny metal object fall into her fingers. She manipulated the tiny pick in her fingers and went to work on the handcuffs. She was a pro after all, and thought of all the angles.  
  
By the time the Suburban had reached the ATF offices, Sam had freed herself. The cuffs dangled loosely around her wrists. Her stomach tightened as the car drew to a halt. Surprise would be on her side.  
  
JD got out first, something Sam had been counting on. She didn't want to try outmaneuvering the cagey sharpshooter if she didn't have to. The kid was an easier mark. Sam began to slide carefully out of the car. JD reached to help her out, and she reacted instantly. She planted the toe of her boot into the younger man's stomach, sending him careening backwards. She heard someone curse behind her.   
  
Buck jumped down from the driver's side, gun at the ready. Sam unleashed a terrific roundhouse kick that sent the pistol flying. Then she flipped the bigger man over her hip and onto his back. She took off at a dead sprint down the sidewalk. Passersby stopped to gape, but no one moved to help. Vin sprinted after her.  
  
Vin caught up to her a block down the road. He reached out with one hand, only to narrowly avoid a well placed elbow. So he did the only other thing he could think of. He dived at her legs, catching her below the knees. The two crashed to the pavement, a tangled mass of arms and legs. She tried to fight back, but it did no use. Vin leaned one knee into the small of her back and wrestled her arms behind her. Soon the cuffs were on her again and the two other agents had arrived at the scene.  
  
"You got her," Buck panted. "It's a good thing we softened her up for you huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Real Good Buck, thanks. Now let's get her inside. I feel like I'm on display in a museum." Sam felt herself being picked up off the pavement by two sets of strong hands. Vin and Buck scowled, but JD looked bewildered.  
  
"How did you get those cuffs off?" he asked, unable to contain his rampant curiosity.  
  
"I've had a lot of practice Bright Boy." Sam snapped. She stumbled forward after receiving a light shove from Buck. 'They don't know what they're doing!' A little voice inside her head screamed. 'They'll ruin everything.' Her expression sullen, Sam went into the federal building.  
  
--  
  
"...Come on darlin," Buck cooed. "Tell me something. Are you thirsty? You look thirsty."  
  
Samantha wedged herself further down in her chair. She stared right through Buck, focusing at some point on the wall behind him. They had been at this for more than three hours and it was becoming tiresome. First the man named Vin had tried his luck, only to be informed that she would speak only to Chris. He left and they sent in the large man named Josiah. He spouted proverbs and scripture. None of that mattered to Sam.  
  
After Josiah, had come Nathan and finally Buck. Three agents watched Buck trying to work his charms with little success from behind a mirror. Chris rubbed his jaw his eyes narrowed into slits. A vein throbbed on the side of his head. JD watched everything intently, peppering the more experienced agents with questions. Vin just watched, observing.  
  
"She still hasn't asked for her lawyer." Larabee pointed out to the others. "There has to be a reason. You running her prints through the FBI records JD?"  
  
"Yep, but no matches yet. I'm also checking on the alias she gave Vin. It's freaky Chris, like she doesn't exist, anywhere."  
  
"You thinkin what I'm thinking Cowboy?" Vin queried.  
  
"Yep, but I want to wait until the search is done, just to be sure. No sense talking my fool head off and not really knowing anything."  
  
Chris tapped on the door to the interrogation room twenty minutes later. Buck stood wearily and opened it. He hadn't been able to get so much as a yes out of the stubborn woman. "She's all yours pard. Good luck."  
  
Chris stepped into the bare room, leafing through a stack of papers in his hands. Sam watched him, almost bored. She'd played this cat and mouse game before. "What do you want Larabee?"  
  
Chris didn't answer right away. "I've got your file here, what we could come up with anyway. JD ran your plates. California, that's a long way to come for no reason. That's a nice car you have there. Maybe a little too nice for a karate instructor out of San Juan Capistrano. What do you get paid anyway, minimum wage? That's a classic car, top of the line work."  
  
"I repeat, what the hell do you want?"  
  
"The car is registered to one Samantha M. Walters. According to your file, you've been a very good girl. In fact, the only thing we found on you was a late parking ticket. You're an incredibly straight arrow. Very odd, especially considering the company you keep. So I run through the scenarios, and I keep coming up with the same thing. Who do you work for Walters? And where is my agent?"  
  
"My answer to both questions is I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Chris threw the papers down on the desk and slammed his hands onto the tabletop. "Cut the crap, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Now tell me before this becomes a closed session."  
  
Sam jumped up from her seat, the chair tipping over behind her. "What are you gonna do Larabee, hit me? You gonna hit me with my God damned arm shackled to this God damned table?" Sam yanked her right arm back, the metal handcuffs digging into her skin. "Well come on and do it then, but it won't get your agent back. Just please tell me if you busted White and the others."  
  
"Of course we took them down. They deserved it."  
  
"You're more of an idiot than I thought!" She exclaimed.   
  
Chris's eyes gleamed. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."  
  
Sam's expression mirrored his. "And you have no conception of what you're doing! I didn't kill your friend, mouthy as he was."  
  
"I'm supposed to believe that? We found the jacket. The blood should be enough to convict you, not to mention the gun with your prints. Feel like changing you're statement now?"  
  
"I somehow doubt," a tired, lilting voice said from the doorway, "that such vulgar means will be necessary to procure my whereabouts Mr. Larabee. Personally, I think we ought to let the woman speak. Maybe she can shed some light on this calamity."  
  
Chris's head shot in the direction of the sound. "Ezra?"  
  
--  
  
"So?" JD prodded. All seven agents sat inside Chris Larabee's office, waiting for Samantha to explain. "Who are you?"  
  
Samantha sipped her coffee. She was so sick of hiding. She needed to talk with someone, and somehow, she felt as though she could trust these men. Seven loyal, brave men, honest to a fault.  
  
"It's true that I started out as a jewel thief. I think I ran my first burglary when I was fifteen. My parents were never home, so they didn't notice when I didn't come back at night. I don't think they would have cared anyway. My mother was a dealer at a casino and my father ran with the mob. My dad might have minded. He called thievery, 'the poor mans crime.'"  
  
"But I was good at it, and by the time I was seventeen I was real good. We moved around a lot, which helped me keep a low profile with the cops, but after a while I earned myself a rep. My parents both died that year and I went through the system to become an emancipated minor. I had enough money to start college, and I only did jobs when I wanted to. This real sweet offer came up my final year of pre-law. It was a high rise job out in Chicago. Good pieces, not too much security. Everything was going just fine until my partner decided to go it alone. Left me bleeding out on the lobby carpet with a .38 slug in my side. That was the day I found out that what they said was true. There is no honor among thieves."  
  
"Then what?" Buck asked. This story was the most interesting he'd heard in months.  
  
"Someone heard the shot and called the cops. Lucky thing too, since I probably would have died in another ten minutes. When I woke up in the hospital, a DA was in my room and read me my Miranda Rights. I honestly thought I was done for, up the creek without a paddle and so forth. I think I slept for two days straight after that. When I came to there was this guy sitting in a chair. He said he had a proposition for me, something that could make my problems go away."  
  
"Who was he? FBI, DEA?" Ezra took a guess.  
  
"CIA actually. Offered to get me out of the charges in exchange for doing a few favors for him every now and then. I thought it was a good deal and I said yes. Next thing I knew, I was being moved to a different hospital and my records were wiped clean. They even set me up in California when I healed. And then the favors came. It wasn't much at first, just asked for a little information, then names, then asked me to go under. I couldn't say no could I? I had more than twenty grand theft charges ready to be put on me. So I went along with it. That was nearly five years ago."  
  
Chris's frown deepened. "I'm confused. Why would the CIA bother with something like our gun dealers? They're small fish in an ocean full of sharks."  
  
Samantha shook her head. "No see, you're concentrating on what's in front of you. What's the element you haven't seen yet?"  
  
"The buyers," Vin supplied.  
  
"Bingo. At least one of you boys is on the ball. Word from my contact was that there is a militant terrorist group getting ready for a big mark. Some government building or official they're out to get. Actually, that reminds me. Can I borrow your phone?"  
  
Josiah slid it in her direction. Sam picked up the receiver and dialed the number she knew by heart. "I need to check in with my contact. Maybe he can give me some more information." She let the phone ring seven or eight times before hanging up. "That's odd. I'll try his cell." There was still no answer. Sam tapped the table nervously.  
  
"Something wrong?" Ezra asked.  
  
"He's not there. He's not answering his cell. I don't like it. And before you say anything, this man is nothing if not anal. Especially when it comes to being in contact. If he's not answering, then something is wrong."  
  
"Try someone else," JD suggested.  
  
Sam shook her head vigorously. "You don't get it kid. The government has sprung a leak or two in the last year or so. No one is to be trusted; I shouldn't even be talking to you. The system has been compromised and there is no way to tell who's on our side." She sprang from her chair and paced the room anxiously.  
  
"What's going on Walters?" Larabee demanded.  
  
"I don't know." She threw up her hands. "I don't know. My contact was the only source of information I had, my only lead to the buyers and who they might be. All I know is that this is bigger than you and me, bigger than all of us. And all I can tell you is that I am way over my head here, and I just keep sinking." She kicked her chair.  
  
"All right, everyone settle down!" Chris barked. Samantha sat in the nearest chair, jumping reflexively at Larabee's voice. "We need to figure out what's going on. Think Walters, isn't there any way we can still make this deal work? A name, a place, anything."  
  
"Wait a minute. Yes, yes, yes. I heard White on his cell phone yesterday, setting up the real deal with the buyers. It's going down this weekend at some cabin up in the mountains, very remote. We could really make this work. The buyers don't know White. They've only talked with him on the phone. You all could go in their place."  
  
"Excuse me? Why should we trust you? If I remember correctly, you were the one who revealed I was ATF and very nearly got me killed." Ezra snapped. "What assurance do we have that you won't gun us all down the second you have the chance? How can we be sure this isn't a trap?"  
  
Samantha seethed. "Hey! If you were a better agent I wouldn't have had to do that. And besides, I needed to gain White's trust, not that it did me any good. You all just sauntered in and destroyed what I have been working for."  
  
"I merely find it very convenient for your contact to have suddenly vanished. No one to argue with what you claim."  
  
"I saved your life, I saved your life! You owe me! If I don't pull this off I'm still stuck and I'll never get out from under this weight. This was supposed to be my last job, and then I was free to do as I please, but only if I get this done. I have a lot more to lose than you. Trust that if you don't trust me."  
  
"Maybe I should thank you for slashing my hand too." He waved the bandaged palm in front of her. "And my head thanks you for knocking me out and this concussion. So no, I don't trust you," he sighed, "but given the remote possibility what you say is true, I'll help. What about the rest of you?"  
  
Silently, every hand in the room went up. They had become involved, and wanted to see it through to the end, whatever that was.  
  
--  
  
"I don't like it." Chris muttered under his breath. "We're out in the middle of nowhere and our nearest backup is a mile away. It will take Team 3 at least a few minutes to get here if we get into trouble."  
  
Samantha nodded, her eyes never leaving the road that wound up to the cabin. "We didn't have many other options. These people are nervous. An area this remote gives them some wiggle room should anything go wrong. Are the weapons ready?"  
  
Vin nodded. "Yep. They're right out in the garage."  
  
"Someone's coming!" JD exclaimed. "They're coming off the logging road to the south. Two trucks. They parked and some guys are getting out. I count ten, maybe twelve."  
  
Samantha took a deep breath to steady herself. "Let's do this thing. Buck, you, Josiah, Vin and JD head out to the garage and help them start to load up. Chris, Ezra, Nathan and I will work out the money. When he walks out that door, I want you ready to move. Got it?"  
  
Buck shot her a crooked smile and sloppy salute. "Whatever you say boss."  
  
Sam cracked her knuckles. She rested her hands on her hips. She felt unprotected and vulnerable. One of the team's condition; she could not wear a gun. A tall ruddy faced, blonde man came through the front. Two guards flanked him on either side.  
  
"Where's Walters?" he asked gruffly.   
  
Sam took her cue and stepped forward. "I'm Walters. You must be our clientele."   
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Sam Walters?"  
  
"Samantha. These are my associates Thomas White," she motioned to Chris. "This is Eric Stanley and the man to your left is Benny Rodriguez. Now let's get down to business. Rest assured that the product we have gotten for you is top of the line, government issue. Would you like to see it?"  
  
"No thank you. I trust you. You seem too smart to try and con me. If anything is wrong with the goods my men will alert me immediately."  
  
Samantha tipped her head approvingly. "Fine, fine. Then shall we talk price?"  
  
The man pursed his lips. "No, I don't think so. It seems your employer is more thorough than you. He called us to warn of an impending bust." He drew a small pistol from his shoulder holster. "So I think we'll just take what we came for." The sound of the shot was deafening. Chris and the others were already drawing their weapons, but it was too late. The slug caught Sam to the left side of her chest. She went down in a heap.  
  
The three ATF agents dove for cover as shots began to ring out. More shots came from inside the garage. Sam struggled to draw a breath. She stared up at the man wide eyed and unable to speak. Her chest felt like someone was sitting on it. The terrorist stood above her, grinning maliciously. "Kevlar? I should have known, but that won't stop a bullet through you head." He raised the gun so that it was pointed between her eyes. "Time to die."  
  
His finger tightened around the trigger and Sam felt the panic rise in her throat. He never fired. The terrorist crashed to the floor as Ezra caught him in a flying tackle. He slugged the man and his head fell back onto the carpet, unconscious.  
  
Ezra leaned down and dragged Sam behind a couch. "You couldn't...have...shot him?" She gasped.  
  
"I couldn't get the angle I needed. Would you prefer me to have abstained?"  
  
Samantha ignored the question. "I thought these damn vests were supposed to protect you."   
  
"Well you're not dead are you? They stop the bullet, but it still packs a punch. We're even by the way. Stay here." Ezra rose from his knees and hurried away while Nathan provided cover. Soon the two bodyguards lay dead on the floor.  
  
They heard the trucks speeding away from the cabin. "Come on!" Chris yelled. The three men rushed toward the garage. Sam followed, slowly dragging herself to her feet.  
  
Vin saw them first. "Sorry Chris. The second we loaded most of the crates they started firing. Where in the hell is Team three?"  
  
"I'm not sure. Is everyone okay?"  
  
Vin shrugged. "Josiah got winged in the arm, nothing serious. The rest of us are fine. Buck and JD went for the Jeep. I figure they're a mile or two ahead of us." The Jeep's horn blared and it slid to a stop in front of the garage, spraying loose gravel.  
  
Nathan stayed behind with Josiah, but the other three and Chris ran for the Jeep. Chris looked at the woman. "Stay here."  
  
"Forget it Larabee. This is my life. I'm coming." Larabee glared at the woman momentarily before giving his consent. Once everyone was inside, Buck pressed his foot hard onto the accelerator and sped into the forest.  
  
The Jeep bounced and wheeled on the deep, rutted dirt road. More than once around a tight turn Buck put the car into oversteer, the rear end fishtailing behind them. Sam was thrown into Vin and Ezra, and her ribs, bruised possibly even broken, screamed in protest.  
  
The light filtered in from the trees, casting a mottled shadow on the road before them. After a few minutes, however, the trees began to get sparse, and the light came in with steady streams. Soon, the forest opened into a small green valley. The trucks were parked haphazardly on the edge of the clearing. Two helicopters rested in the middle. The terrorists were loading the last of the crates.  
  
The agents and Sam leapt from the car, taking cover where they could find it, behind doors, a pile of rocks and even a tree. Larabee rested his arms over the hood of the Jeep, gun at the ready. Sam checked the clip of the pistol she'd stolen off one of the bodyguards. Four bullets remained in the clip plus one in the chamber.   
  
"This is the ATF!" Chris bellowed. "Give yourselves up and place your weapons on the ground." A few of the terrorists jumped and pulled their weapons, Mac-10's and automatic rifles. They sent a barrage of bullets at the ATF jeep. Chris took cover.   
  
Soon an all out firefight ensued. The agents remained unscathed, taking out four of the terrorists. Out in the open, with no cover, the terrorists swarmed the two copters. One man was pulling himself onto an already rising chopper when Vin's shot cut through his thigh. The man dropped to the ground with a scream. The two choppers rose swiftly into the air, disappearing in a matter of minutes.  
  
JD radioed Team 3's leader and told him to put out a warning on unidentified choppers. The rest went to check the wounded. Buck and Ezra shook their heads, rising from two prone forms. The third man was shot through the head, gray matter littering the ground. The fourth was the man Vin had shot in the leg. Sam trailed behind Chris toward the spot where he had fallen.  
  
"Where did you get that?" Vin asked, nodding to the pistol still in her hands.  
  
"Does it matter?" He frowned, but didn't respond.  
  
"He's unconscious," Chris declared. "That was one hell of a shot Vin. But he needs to get to a hospital quick, or he'll die. Not that I'd mind so much, but we need the information he can give us. Have Ezra take him and Walters back to the cabin."  
  
"I'm fine," came the terse reply. Sam moved a hand up to wipe some sweat from her brow when she noticed how badly it was shaking. She felt cold all over and couldn't see how white her face was. She just knew she might be sick.  
  
"Ezra!" Vin called. The southerner jogged over. "Take Sam and this guy back to the cabin in the jeep. We're gonna wait for the clean up crew here."  
  
"He's bleeding," Ezra noted dryly. Then he looked down at his pants suggestively. Vin rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
"I'll put him in the car. Then you can hand him over to Nathan. All you have to do is drive."  
  
"Wonderful Mr. Tanner. I shall accompany our two miscreants to the hospital as well. To keep an eye on them, you know."  
  
"Sure Ez." Vin knew the man merely wanted to delay writing his report. Not that he blamed him; the reports were time consuming and needed to be meticulous.  
  
That problem solved Vin and Buck lifted the injured terrorist into the Jeep. Ezra hopped behind the wheel and Sam carefully got into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes as the jeep pulled away. "This was a disaster," she muttered a little later.  
  
"Hardly, some of our busts have been far more messy."  
  
"Is that a testament to your stupidity? Not something I would be proud of."  
  
"Funny. Are you all right? You look a might pallid."  
  
"Aw, I didn't know you cared. My ribs hurt is all."  
  
"That happens when you take a slug in the side from inches away, vest or no vest."  
  
"I want to thank you for what you did back there. Slugging that guy I mean." Sam told him.  
  
He shrugged. "Forget it, and I didn't slug him. Nothing quite so vulgar. I may have passed my hand over his jaw, however. I owed you. And anyway, Mr. Larabee gets very cross when we let an ally become deceased."  
  
"Well, as you say, we are even. Now I just have to figure out where to go from here. Without a lead from my source I'm stuck."  
  
"Wait and see what we pertain from this loathsome curmudgeon in back. If he can't supply us with information, perhaps the man I hit will be able to."  
  
"I thought you didn't hit him." Samantha teased.  
  
Ezra braked the Jeep near the cabin and scowled at Sam. "Shut up Walters." Nathan trotted over. "Mr. Jackson, is the ambulance here yet? We have two that require medical attention."  
  
"Yeah Ez. And the meat wagon has already packed the two in the cabin."  
  
"Two?" Sam queried. "There should be three."  
  
"Nope, only two." Ezra and Sam looked at each other. One man had gotten away.  
  
--  
  
Samantha eyed Ezra warily as he entered the small curtained area of the Denver area hospital emergency room. She was in the process of gingerly pulling on her T-shirt over bandaged ribs.  
  
"Any more news?"  
  
Ezra shook his head. "Mr. Wilmington arrived just after we did and went to check on our guy. No luck. He's in surgery now and was incomprehensible before hand. Buck got his ramblings on tape however, and Chris has invited you back to the offices to review. Coming?"  
  
"I'm coming. The sooner I get done with this job, the sooner I can leave. Where's your car?"  
  
"Outside. I can call you a cab if you feel you may be sick on the way." Sam gave him a withering look. "What? My upholstery is leather."  
  
"I won't vomit on your car Standish. On you...maybe." She stood slowly, a small smile crossing her lips. She had to focus on where she put her feet. The aspirin the docs had given her had yet to take effect, and her head pounded like a kettle drum. "Lead the way."  
  
--  
  
Samantha and the rest of Team 7 sat around the conference table. A tape deck rolled in the middle of the table. The man was mumbling incoherently, spouting letters of the alphabet and small pieces of poems.   
  
"This is useless," Standish muttered after ten minutes. "The man is a loon."  
  
"Is that a clinical term?" Vin joked.  
  
"Hush, all of you," Sam barked. "Play the tape back." Her eyes bore into Chris's. "Did you hear what I hear?" Chris cocked his head to the left before nodding.  
  
"What?" Buck questioned.  
  
"Listen. There it is again. Damn if I didn't think these people were psychos before this. Do you hear it?" Sam leaned forward, rewinding the tape and upping the volume.  
  
Ezra's eyes grew wide and Vin put his head in his hands. A look of understanding came over Nathan and Josiah nodded. Sam looked to Buck and JD,  
who both appeared confused. "Oh come on. You two aren't as dumb as your ugly   
mugs make you seem. He keeps repeating the same thing over and over. POTUS. Who do you know with initials that spell out POTUS?"  
  
"You've got to be kidding me," Buck sighed.  
  
"I still don't get it," JD said.  
  
"Come on think JD," Buck supplied. "POTUS. An official in the government named POTUS."  
  
A look of understanding passed over JD. Sam smiled grimly, "And the Bright Boy gets it. That's right JD, they're going after POTUS. The President of the United States."  
  
End Chapter one  
Chapter two becomes a WW crossover.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Attempt

Chapter 2: The Attempt  
The Seven from the ATF are on their way to DC to stop a presidential assassination. I own none of them except Sam, Walters, not Seaborne.  
Spoilers: I bet there are plenty, but I couldn't name them. Thanks to those who came up with the name of Ezra's horse.  
  
~~  
  
"They're going after Bartlett," Ezra muttered, shaking his head. "If that's not cocky I don't know what is."  
  
"If they're gunning for the most highly protected man in the country than they know something we don't," Vin's blue eyes were somber.   
  
"I've met Butterfield," Chris told them. "He's an honest agent, but I think he has a mole he doesn't know about. I'm calling upstairs. We need to start this ball rolling."  
  
"No!" Samantha Walters cried. She lunged across the table, knocking the receiver from Chris's grasp. Her eyes were wild. "You can't call upstairs, you can't call anyone. I told you, the government has been having problems with security lately. My contact in the CIA told me not to discuss the mission with anyone. He'd have my hide if he knew I let you in on it. It's us, working this alone, or me without any of you."  
  
Nathan was not fond of ducking regulation. He liked to be by the book whenever possible, not that it was possible much with Team 7. "So what do you suggest we do? We can't just sit here."  
  
"I'm not suggesting that we do. I think the first thing to do would be to interview our terrorist friend at the hospital. Chris, how soon can you get time off?"  
  
"Tomorrow at the earliest, but it can't be all of us. The brass will get suspicious if we all up and head to DC on zero notice. But we all have time coming, so I think I'll manage. Take Vin and Ez and go interview our suspect. We'll expect you back at six."  
  
They all nodded and headed for the elevator. "One car or two?" Sam asked the two agents.  
  
"Considering the fact that Mr. Tanner's vehicle is the only one equipped to handle three passengers, and I refuse to set foot in it, I'd say two." Ezra's emerald eyes met Vin's blue ones over the top of Sam's head. He mouthed, 'go with her.' Vin nodded. If Ezra was not yet ready to trust Sam, than neither was he.  
  
Sam hopped into her front seat. Vin rapped on the window with his knuckles. If she was surprised to have him with her she didn't show it. "Do you know where we're going?"  
  
Vin nodded. "Avista Medical in Superior. I'll give you directions."  
  
"Fasten your seat belt." Vin barely had time to comply before they were squealing out of their spot and down to the road. Soon, they were speeding along I-25 towards Westminster and Boulder. Sam slipped a CD into the car's stereo. She glanced at the long haired man over her sunglasses. "You don't listen to country and western do you?"  
  
"Not often."  
  
"Good, cause all I got is rock and roll." Hendrix filtered out over the speaker's to Vin's ears. Sam's head bobbed along with the music. Her eyes were transfixed on the road, but her mind was focused in on the music. The pounding base beat overpowered the throbbing in her head.  
  
They arrived at Avista less than an hour later. Ezra's Jag pulled in beside them. They walked three abreast into the hospital. It smelled of antiseptic and sickness all at once. The sweet smell wafted through the hallways. Vin shuddered. He hated hospitals.  
  
They reminded him of everything he wanted to forget. Hospitals reminded him of the dangers of his job. They reminded him of people's frailty and how easily they can be hurt. He'd sat in chairs often enough to know that people don't always come back all right. He never wanted to be there to hear that one of his surrogate family had departed. The men he worked with were more than his colleagues or even his friends; they were his brothers.  
  
Vin shook the depressing thoughts from his head. He had a job to do. The two agents and Sam entered the elevator. "What floor?" he asked Ezra.  
  
"A nurse on the phone informed me that he is out of surgery and conscious. The contemptuous villain resides on the fourth floor. We can talk to him for fifteen minutes, but no more."  
  
Vin punched the button with his thumb. "You coulda just said four, ya know."  
  
Ezra grinned slyly. "True, but where would be the fun in that?" The elevator lurched into motion. Sam envisioned a peaceful end to the day. She could get information for her contact in the CIA and be done with it. No more being a double agent, no more going undercover. She would finally have her normal life. All she had to do was interview one more suspect.  
  
Ezra and Vin were still mincing word when the elevator reached four. The doors slid open and the two men walked out. Sam trailed on their heels, eyes cast on the floor. She didn't see the man until it was too late. "Ooph! Hey sorry about that. I really need to watch where I'm...hello?" The man she had bumped into shouldered his way past without responding. Sam glowered. "I said sorry!" She glared at his receding back.   
  
His shirt hung lopsided off one shoulder. A black trench coat rested in the crook of his elbow. Peeking out from under his collar was a tattoo. A vicious looking Cobra wound around a sword stared back at her. The cobra's blood red eyes seemed to stare at her. The tattoo was, in a word, creepy. She turned and trotted after Vin and Ezra.  
  
They rounded a corner of the hall and walked straight into pandemonium. Doctors and nurses were running everywhere. One nurse wheeled a crash cart into a room. Vin broke into a run. He skidded to a stop by the window looking into the ICU. A man on a portable bed was thrashing wildly about. The covers of the bed were strewn about the floor.   
  
Ezra and Sam skidded to a stop next to the sharpshooter. "That's our guy!" Sam exclaimed.  
  
"It seems that we might be a little late for our interview," Ezra muttered. "he is looking less than well at the moment."  
  
Sam groaned and let her head flop against the window. She blinked tiredly, and then she saw it. It took a moment for the figure to register in her mind. Around the convulsing man's left wrist was a cobra with blood red eyes, wrapped around a sword.  
  
"It's him!"  
  
"It's who?"  
  
"The guy, the elevator!" She didn't stick around to explain, but rather rushed back down the hall. Vin and Ezra looked at each other in puzzlement. By mutual, unspoken agreement, Ezra stayed, and Vin followed.  
  
Ezra caught the arm of a passing nurse. "What happened to this man? Last I heard he was stable."  
  
The harried looking nurse shrugged. "Bad reaction to some medication. He's had a seizure and his heart stopped. The doctor is trying to restart his heart. Now excuse me." She dashed into the room.  
  
Ezra frowned. He hated coincidence, in fact he didn't believe in it. He ran a hand through his hair as the doctor shocked the man's heart again. He watched quietly as the heart monitor jumped once, then leveled out into a flat line.  
  
--  
  
Sam reached the elevator and pushed the down button repeatedly. When it didn't come right away she gave up and burst through the door to the service stairs. She cursed herself as she ran down each flight, taking the steps two, even three at a time. She should have noticed the tattoo. She should have seen it on the suspect, but she didn't and now he was dying and the man responsible was getting away.  
  
She jumped down the final flight, taking all seven steps in one leap. Her left knee gave out when she landed, but she pushed herself up and moved on. She sprinted down the hall and out the door into the sunlight. She looked frantically from left to right. She spotted him, head down, striding quickly into a line of cars.  
  
"Hey you, stop!" The man hunched lower and broke into a run. He disappeared behind a string of SUVs. She dashed into the parking lot, peering at cars. An engine a few cars away roared to life. She spun in the direction of the sound. She stopped, but the world kept spinning. The scene in front of her blatantly refused to still. She swayed. The car pulled from the parking spot. She couldn't tell if it was on her right, on her left, or coming straight at her. One of the three cars coming at her was real, but she had no idea which one. She just knew it was coming, but dared not move from her rooted position.  
  
The engine grew louder. A sense of panic welled in her throat. Her head screamed for her to move, bit her legs refused to obey. Suddenly, something crashed into her, sending her flying onto a grass median. She felt the air rippled as the sedan flew by.  
  
She and her 'something' landed in a heap in the grass, a tangled mass of arms and legs. Sam blinked and the figure came into focus. Vin looked somewhere between annoyed and concerned. "Get off me Tanner," she growled. "My ribs are killing me."  
  
Vin complied, rolling off to the side and jumping nimbly to his feet. Sam propped herself on an elbow, content to stay down a moment longer. "What was that Walters?" He barked, doing a rather remarkable impression of the voice she had heard Chris use when angry.  
  
"I felt like playing chicken," she replied flippantly. Frankly she didn't know what had happened, but she didn't want to discuss it.  
  
"With a car that could have made you into road kill?"   
  
"I like to live life on the edge. You gonna give me a hand or not?" Vin's lips thinned into a stern line, but he offered his hand nonetheless. Sam took it and used the leverage to get to her feet.  
  
"Come on. Ez is inside. Explain on the way up to our John Doe's room."  
  
"Our newly deceased John Doe."   
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"It wasn't a heart attack or anything like that. The guy that we passed on the elevator had a tattoo on his shoulder by his neck. Our guy has the same one on his wrist. My guess is that these guys don't like to leave loose ends. I'd give you odds that the guy on the elevator was in the same terrorist group as Doe."  
  
Vin nodded as she explained her theory. Finally he told her, "I wouldn't bet against that if you gave me odds of 100 to one. Let's grab Ezra and report back to Chris."  
  
"What's the deal with Standish anyway? He seems very, aloof." It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, but it worked just the same.  
  
"Ezra don't like to let anyone too close. I suppose I can understand that. You don't get close you don't get hurt. Seems like the man is closer to Chaucer, his horse, than he is to any of us."  
  
Sam wrinkled her nose. "He named his horse after the author of the Canterbury Tales?"  
  
Vin gave her a strange look. "Huh?"  
  
Sam closed her eyes. "Never mind."  
  
They met Standish halfway. Ezra was coming through the lobby, a sour expression on his face. "Scratch one source of potential information. It seems our man had an adverse reaction to some penicillin. Never had a chance. So, what's next?"  
  
"I'd say we head to DC."  
  
--  
  
"I don't like it."  
  
"Buck," Chris told his oldest friend with more patience than he felt, "we've already been over this. You all decided to draw straws to see who would come. You lost, JD won, now get over it. He'll be fine."  
  
Buck shifted from foot to foot, his eyes locked on the raven haired agent slinging his bag over his shoulder. JD looked so young to him, the newspaper boy cap slightly askew on his head. His eyes were bright at the thought of visiting DC and possibly even meeting the president. JD was like a little brother to the sweet talking ladies man. They teased each other relentlessly, lived in the same apartment, and shared a love of anything ridiculous and annoying. Especially if it annoyed Chris.  
  
Ezra, Vin JD and Chris were the members of Team 7 who had won their spots on the plane to DC. Sam was coming too, not that any of the ATF agents could have stopped her if they tried. Samantha was almost as stubborn as Chris and just as devious as Ezra. One way or another, Chris knew she would be on that plane to DC.  
  
The flight attendant at the gate gave the last call for boarding. Buck tried once more, "Give me your ticket." He pleaded. "Better yet, give me Sam's."  
  
Chris couldn't help himself, he laughed. Buck was the most unbearable mother hen when it came to JD. "I think you'd have to wrestle her for it."  
  
"What? You don't think I could take her?" His voice was dead serious.  
  
"Go home Buck. Keep up appearances in the office. JD will be fine. We'll be back in a week or two, maybe less. I want a stack of finished reports on my desk when I get back." Chris shot a last smile at his friend before jogging to the gate. The attendant waved him inside. Buck watched Chris's receding form until the door closed. Then he watched the flight taxi to the runway.  
  
Chris took his seat in business class next to Vin and two seats down from JD. Ezra and Sam were seated together a few rows back. Larabee smirked at the thought of the reticent southerner and the feisty, he could think of no better word, woman seated together for the better part of three and a half hours. 'At least', he thought 'they'll entertain each other.'  
  
"Mr. Larabee is attempting to punish me. I'm sure of it." Ezra mumbled as the plane lifted off.  
  
"Punish you for what?"  
  
Ezra shrugged. "I have angered our leader innumerable times and am sure this is ample retaliation for one I can't think of at the moment."  
  
"I'm no that bad," Sam told him huffily.  
  
"Try saying that from the position I now sit. You might very well change your tune."  
  
Ezra's head snapped in Sam's direction when he felt her cuff the back of his head. Sam, wide innocent eyes staring back at him merely shrugged. "I slipped. You're no picnic yourself Standish. You're mouthy and obstinate and, and, and" Her voice trailed off.  
  
Sam shut her mouth, but her mind continued with her rant. 'You're stubborn, but God you're cute. You and Vin. Whoa, where did that come from? I really do need my head checked.'  
  
Ezra followed along the same line as Sam. "Point being? You are irritating and stubborn and require more looking after than Mr. Dunne." 'And you remind me far too much of myself. Whoa, that was odd.'  
  
Samantha glared at the undercover agent, her hazel eyes blazing. "Why do I require more looking after than JD? What, is it because I'm female and somehow that makes me frail and weak? Oh yes, I remember this. I'm a single independent woman so I'm bound to be raped, murdered, kidnapped, pillaged. I'm back in the days of the fucking Vikings, pillaged!" A few people near them turned to stare. Sam blushed.  
  
Ezra blinked. "You know," his voice was velvety calm. "I'm not really sure your use of the word pillage adequately supports you train of thought. Perhaps mugged would suit the phrase better."  
  
"Shut up Standish." Samantha shifted so that she wasn't directly facing him anymore and pulled out a set of headphones and CD case. Her eyes twinkled, amused by her conversation. Ezra picked up the book he'd been reading the last few days. He held the book higher than usual, making sure Sam did not see the grin that threatened to slip over his stony façade. They didn't speak again the entire flight, but let the amiable silence fill the space between them as the country drifted by beneath the plane.  
  
--  
  
The four agents and Sam rented a large four by four at Dulles International Airport. While Chris and Vin went to pick up the vehicle, Ezra, Sam and JD got a chance to look around and plan their next move.   
  
JD bought a newspaper and began to shuffle through it. His eyes trickled over the pages until they spotted something of interest. He folded back the paper and brought it over to Ezra. Ezra took the paper and began to read. Sam peered over JD's shoulder. On the third page back, there was an article about Bartlett.  
  
Ezra read aloud. "President Josiah Bartlett is attending an open forum today near the Washington Monument in DC. Mr. Bartlett is to give a speech after an introduction by press secretary CJ Craig. Bartlett is expected to confront the issues of teen violence, education and gun control during his speech. After he is finished, the members of the audience will be allowed time to ask the president questions on any topic of their choosing. The forum will begin at one thirty Eastern Standard."  
  
Sam glanced at her watch. "That gives us just over three hours."  
  
JD looked at Sam in surprise. "What makes you think they're going after him today? How can you know?"  
  
"I don't Bright Boy, but I can guess. Think about it. Open forum, the middle of the day, and it's not like there are a lot of places around the Washington monument to put snipers. Bartlett is going to be pretty much in open air. He'll have tons of security, to be sure, but without an eagle eye position it'll be difficult to spot anything, especially with a good crowd."  
  
"The press is expecting a formidable sized turnout. This forum is unique and a lot of people want to ask Bartlett questions. I agree with you Miss Walters, that this forum would provide ample opportunity to assassinate the president."  
  
A few people nearby gave Ezra odd looks, and some even visibly backed away from him. Standish appeared unfazed and, seeing Chris and Vin waiting by the curb, promptly left the terminal.   
  
A blast of muggy air washed over them as the doors slid open. Ezra was unperturbed, the humidity reminiscent of his days growing up South of the Mason Dixon line. Even though technically Virginia was still the south there were a few important differences. First of all, virtually no one North of Richmond said ya'll. Secondly, asking for tea in Virginia meant you got it hot with a bag, rather than iced and chock full of sugar. Fond memories of childhood few and far between made Ezra reminisce for less than a minute. He jumped into the seat behind Chris.  
  
Sam remembered the heat, the humidity, but it was all like some pleasant faraway dream. A dream she couldn't quite touch. Beads of sweat began to roll down her neck the moment she stepped outside. Chris too looked uncomfortable, not surprising considering his black shirt and black jeans. Only Vin, the Texan, felt at home in the sweltering sauna.   
  
Despite the heavy midday traffic, the agents made decent time into DC, at least, better than they had expected. Dulles was only fifteen or twenty miles from the city, but Bartlett's speech and the fast approaching weekend made traffic a nightmare. They were inside the city limits in just over an hour and a half.  
Of course, that was just into the city. Bumper to bumper traffic on the Beltway, not unlike midtown Manhattan, slowed their progress to little more than a crawl.  
  
It was one o'clock before the Washington monument became anything more than a speck on the horizon. Vin felt an unexplained felling of apprehension wash over his body. Glancing around he realized that the others felt it too. JD was staring fixedly at the monument, Sam chewed her lip, Ezra shuffled the stack of cards he kept in his pocket, and the vein in Chris's temple started to throb. None of them liked to be so close, yet still so far away.  
  
It was ten minutes later and a half mile closer to the monument when Vin's patience gave way. He unbuckled his seat belt and threw open his door. With a helpful nudge from Ezra, JD and Sam followed. "Sorry cowboy, but this is gettin us nowhere fast. We're gonna hoof it the rest of the way."  
  
Chris protested. "Wait just one damn minute! One of you park and I'll come along."  
  
Vin took off at a ground eating jog. He craned his head back toward the car and yelled, "Hey, you insisted on driving. Now you can park."   
  
Vin and the others soon were out of bellowing range. Chris hit the steering wheel. He would have gone after them, but he couldn't just leave the truck in the middle of the road. "Damn you Tanner."  
  
--  
  
"This is insane!" Sam called out, having to yell just to be heard. "There are more people here than live in this God forsaken city!" She paused briefly, making sure that Ezra and JD were still behind her. She wouldn't have been surprised if the two men had gotten lost in the throng. She was having enough trouble keeping Vin's tattered, worn, brown leather jacket in sight.  
  
JD and the southerner were both behind her, picking their way through the crowd. Ezra, despite all his complaints had kept up with the others on their run from the car to the crowd. In fact, he barely looked winded.  
  
Sam caught up with Vin near the front of the crowd. She'd spotted Secret Service at various times, and none looked overly concerned. 'At they're here.' "Hey Tanner." Vin turned. "What do we do now?" The sharpshooter shook his head.  
  
A roar went up from the crowd as two limos pulled to a stop not far from a crudely constructed podium. Secret Service agents exited the stretch limos, then White House staffers like Leo McGarry, Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler and CJ Craig followed. An entire troop of people made their way onto the podium. Several members of the press and cameras were already set up. Craig, a thin, tall woman grabbed the mike. This was a woman, Vin decided, that commanded attention.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, officers of the press, I would like to thank you for being with us here today. Today the president will be speaking directly to you all on issues that concern you, the people. Today is not a day for big business and special interests. Today we hear from you, the people." She paused for applause. "Now, if you would all please welcome, The President of the United States!" People on every side burst into raucous applause.  
  
JD wasn't paying attention. He caught sight of a lone man, eyes to the ground walking quickly away from the podium. His blonde hair was cropped short, and a black leather coat was slung over his shoulder. Sunglasses prevented the young agent from seeing his face. Then JD saw it, the tattoo on the man's upper arm. The cobra looked ready to sink its fangs into anyone who came too near. JD tugged on Vin's arm and pointed. The sharpshooter immediately caught on.  
  
"We have a problem guys." Sam and Ezra looked at him expectantly. "They're here." Sam and Ezra whirled. Ezra saw another man, dressed the same as the one JD had seen off to the left. Sam spotted one near the back.  
  
"I see three." Sam said, trying not to notice Bartlett's form as he rose up the steps onto the podium. "We need to get a warning to Butterfield NOW."  
  
"How do you suggest we get to him?" Vin queried. "He's on the podium with Bartlett. If you can slip past these Secret Service and everyone else without being seen them I'm all for it, but I don't expect that to happen any time soon. Besides the fact that we don't even know if and or how these guys are going after him."  
  
"A bomb," Sam provided. "Like I said before, there aren't a lot of places for snipers to hide. A bomb could have been set in place hours ago. And maybe they won't go after him, but can we take that chance?" Vin frowned. She was right.   
  
"I think I may have a solution," Ezra interjected. "We need to create a diversion. One that will inevitably lead to the dispersing of this crowd and the immediate removal of Bartlett from this general vicinity." Ezra reached down and removed a small, silver plated, snub nosed .38 from an ankle holster.  
  
Vin groaned. Sam covered her eyes. "I don't even want to know how you got that past airport security."  
  
"Fine," he shrugged, "I won't tell you."  
  
"Ezra that's suicide." Vin scolded. "The minute those agents see you with a weapon you're a dead man."  
  
"I highly doubt that. As you can see we are in a high density area of the crowd and I have serious doubts to the Secret Service's ability to even see me in this crowd let alone shoot me. Now I suggest that you all remove yourselves from this area post haste."  
  
Vin growled at the undercover agent, but gestured for Sam and JD to disperse into the crowd. Bartlett stepped up to the mike and the crowd hushed itself. The President opened his mouth. "In this day and age of..." he never got to finish. The sound of a shot rang through the air. A woman in the crowd screamed.   
  
Secret Service swarmed around Bartlett and quickly yanked him off the scaffolding and toward the limos. The mass of people were now thoroughly panicked. The pressed at the iron railings while Secret Service tried to usher them back. Other agents in SWAT gear assaulted the crowd. Amidst the confusion, Vin, Sam, and JD made their moves. Each nimbly leapt the fencing and clambered up to the stage.  
  
Vin and Sam checked the top while JD rushed underneath. People ran around them like frightened cattle, but they ignored them. It was Vin who found the bomb. The sharpshooter ripped the wooden paneling from the front of the lectern. A bundle of electronics and a timer stared up at him through clear plastic casing. "Sam! JD get up here."  
  
Sam kneeled next to him. "Holy mother. Is that...?"  
  
Vin nodded gravely. "Nitro. Yup."   
  
"Can you disarm it?"  
  
"Do I look like a member of the bomb squad? What about you Walters?"  
  
Sam held up her hands. "Bombs are definitely not my thing. Does that say two minutes, because that's what it looks like to me."  
  
"That's what it says. JD! We need to get everyone out of here Sam, and quick." JD slid down on the other side of Vin.   
  
Sam stood, brushing dirt from her jeans. She had to think. People were starting to calm down. They weren't running away any more. That would simply not do. Sam pulled the mike to her. Then, mustering all the hysteria she could into her voice she screamed. "It's a bomb!" Pandemonium ensued, but at least people were moving away from the stage. Vin shot her a withering look. "What, it got them to leave."  
  
"Well JD? Can you disarm it?"  
  
"Sure." Vin's face lit up. "With tools and like half an hour."  
  
Sam grabbed Vin's jacket. "You mean to tell me that not one of you has any experience with bombs?"  
  
"Chris does, but I reckon he's still lookin for a place to park."  
  
"That's perfect Vin, just perfect!"  
  
"Thirty seconds. What do you think?"  
  
Sam sighed, cocking her head to one side before nodding tightly. "Run."  
  
"What?" JD yelled.  
  
Vin grabbed JD's collar and nearly dragged him to his feet. "You heard the lady JD. Move!" The three took a running leap off the side of the platform. Vin rolled and got to his feet. JD was just in front of him, and he saw Sam land in a dead run to his left. He sprinted away as fast as he could. They were perhaps fifty yards from the stage when it exploded in a ball of flames.  
  
Vin felt the shock wave pick him off the ground and toss hi in the air like a rag doll. He flipped end over end until he landed in the grass five yards or so farther on. Sam and JD met a similar fate.   
  
Vin rolled onto his stomach and covered his head while flaming pieces of the podium rained around them. A few moments later Vin heard something above him click. He rolled onto his back, hands open and up by his head. A very angry Secret Service agent pointed his rifle directly between the sharpshooter's eyes. Vin managed a weak grin. "It's all right pard. I give up."  
  
--  
  
A few hours after the debacle at the Washington Monument, Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborne were walking down the bland concrete corridor of the Pentagon. Seaborne ran his hands through his hair nervously. Josh looked over at him. "Geez Sam relax."  
  
"How can I relax? One of the lunatic, psychotic killers asked for me by name. By name Josh, do you realize what that could mean?"  
  
"That maybe these terrorists have watched the news before and have heard your name read as the speechwriter. That they could have seen you on any one of your countless appearances on Capitol Beat?"  
  
"Are you saying that I try to grab the limelight? Because if you do, you can just tell me."  
  
"That's not what I'm saying. Oh. Maybe this guy wants to pummel you to a pulp for something you wrote. In which case there is no problem because you have me here with you." Josh began to air box.  
  
Sam chuckled. "That really isn't comforting. And how can you be so calm when you know what happened today? There was a terrorist attack against the president and this doesn't bother you?"  
  
"Of course it bothers me, but think about it like this. The president is fine, no one got hurt and I didn't end up shot. All in all I'd count that as a pretty good day, and what do you mean having me along isn't a comfort. If I were you I'd see my presence as a comfort."  
  
"Josh, you got beat up by Suzie Moorehouse, the mousy girl with the glasses in the ninth grade. You are not a boxer."  
  
The two White House staffers met up with Ron Butterfield outside a closed room. "Well?" Butterfield asked.  
  
Josh talked. "We've already seen the other three suspects. Can't say as they seem like your typical white supremacists or terrorists for that matter. That one guy that had the gun seems to be having fun giving Dwyer the run around. He keeps talking in these weird backward phrases. We had Dwyer send for Ainsley Hayes. She speaks southerner. The other two are just silent."  
  
"I think this one you're going to find interesting. Asked for you by name Seaborne. Sounded like they knew you. You ready?"  
  
Sam nodded, but his stomach was rolling. He didn't like terrorists. Butterfield unlocked the door and led the way. Inside, a woman with long coppery hair sat with one hand cuffed to a metal desk. A Secret Service agent was bent down yelling at her.   
  
The woman yawned and shifted so she could see the door. Her eyes lit up. Sam stopped dead in his tracks causing Josh to run into him. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "Hunter?"  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
Okay that was my first attempt at WW style dialogue. Love to hear what you thought. Forgive my butchering any spelling of character names. Chap 3 coming soon.  
  



	3. Two Sams?

Chapter 3: Two Sams?  
Spoilers: Plenty, but I can't name them.  
Disclaimer: Don't own any except for Sam Walters/ Hunter. You'll figure out the name thing as you go along. I think I made Sam because I wanted to see how they all would react to a really strong, somewhat uncouth, headstrong female character. And she is just really fun to write. Just some fun in the ATF/AU with the members of the WW. Look at previous chapter for more detail.  
  
~~  
  
"Hunter?" Sam Seaborn repeated again in disbelief.  
  
"Hey Sam. It's been a long time. Last time I saw you was at Princeton. And it's Walters now."  
  
"You're...?"  
  
"Oh God no, not anymore. I kept the name to remind me never to do that again."  
  
Josh cleared his throat. "I seem not to be the only one confused by all this. This is the evil terrorist I'm supposed to help protect you from? No offense, but I think I could take her."  
  
"I wouldn't bet on that," Seaborn grinned.  
  
"Could you please explain what the hell is going on?" No response. "Sam?"  
  
"What?" Seaborn and Walters responded in tandem.  
  
Josh sat in a nearby chair. "Oh no. This isn't confusing at all."  
  
Sam Seaborn turned to his best friend. "Sorry. Josh, this is Samantha Hunt...Walters. We went to Princeton together for a few years. We met in..." his voice trailed off.  
  
"Asian Civ." Samantha replied. "What a bore that class was. And as I remember, you sat right near the front, scratching down every little note that professor told us. You were the perfect little student."  
  
"I got an 'A' in that class."  
  
"So did I. And I didn't work half as hard as you did. I never even would have met you except that you had your head buried in a book and knocked me down a flight of stairs," Walters smiled, her eyes twinkling. Josh was laughing.   
  
"You knocked her down a flight of stairs?" Josh chortled.  
  
"It was a little flight," Sam responded weakly.  
  
Butterfield cleared his throat and Josh and the two Sams glanced over at him. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think we're venturing off the subject. I still want to know why you were trying to kill the president and who you're working with. White pride, anti-establishment, what?"  
  
Samantha shook her head. "Sorry to burst your bubble but I'm no terrorist. Neither are the three men you brought me in with."  
  
"I'm supposed to believe that?"  
  
"Not on my say so. Chris Larabee, do you remember him?"  
  
Butterfield nodded. "Sure. Larabee is an agent in the ATF Special Agents division in Denver. I'm not sure why that applies."  
  
"Well, Larabee isn't in Denver. He's here, in DC. Those three men you arrested are agents on his team. They and I came to stop an assassination attempt."  
  
"Right."  
  
"You don't believe me, fine. I'd wager Larabee will be calling you any minute. Even check our records. After I moved back here from Europe I moved to San Juan Capistrano, California. I'm a karate instructor. Honestly, take my prints and check my record."  
  
"One more question before I go. Why are you being so cooperative while your friends are silent as mice?"  
  
Samantha waved one hand in the air as she talked. "The young one is John Dunne. He's probably half way between terrified and awed. Tanner is the guy in the beat up leather jacket. He's not speaking because he was told to talk to no one. And Standish," she shook her head.  
  
"What about Standish?"  
  
"He'll screw with your head just to see you sweat. It would be easier getting information from a brick wall."  
  
Butterfield grunted. "We'll see. Josh, Sam, can I see you outside?"  
  
Seaborn glanced at Samantha. "I'll be right back. We have a lot to talk about." He strode out the door, leaving Samantha to stare after him.  
  
"You have no idea old friend," she muttered. Then she noticed how close the Secret Service agent was standing to her. She raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"  
  
Meanwhile Josh and Sam were conferring with Butterfield in the hall. "What do you think Sam?"  
  
Seaborn shook his vehemently. "I haven't seen or even spoken to her in years. But I would never pin her as a terrorist, especially not against someone like Bartlett. I'd say she's telling you the truth."  
  
Butterfield nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to put a call into the CIA. We should have all their files in an hour. I don't like this. If she is telling the truth then we have a mass terrorist group running around DC who came too damn close to the President. He'll have to go under massive supervision at all times."  
  
"He won't do it."   
  
"I know that Josh, but I have to try. Man is too damn stubborn for his own good. Thanks for your help Seaborn. I'll give you all a call when I get this sorted out." Butterfield stalked down the hall, whipping a cell out of his breast pocket.  
  
"Look Sam, I'm going to head back. Leo and CJ are gonna need to know all this. CJ has to put a good spin on the bombing."  
  
"You're going to put spin on an assassination attempt?"  
  
"We're going to try."  
  
"I'll stay here a while longer. Sam and I have some catching up to do."  
  
"Yeah, you really need to work out a better system for referring to yourselves. Having to sort you two out is going to be a real pain."  
  
"I'll meet you back at the office in a few hours." Josh turned to leave. "She's not an assassin Josh."  
  
"I hope you're right Sam. I really do."  
  
Sam rubbed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. His hand found the doorknob and he opened it. Samantha was waiting for him.  
  
"So what's the deal Seaborn? Last I saw of you, you were studying for the bar. What ever happened to being a lawyer?"  
  
"I realized that I wasn't comfortable being the money grubbing scum of the earth working for big business."  
  
"So you became a politician? That's kind of a horizontal move, don't ya think?"  
  
"Bartlett is a damn good man Sammy. As a politician they don't come any better. You might know that a little better, had you decided to stick around."  
  
Sam stared at Samantha in silence for a long time. The person in front of him held the same glimmer of life that he had known in college. But her eyes, while still open and thoughtful, were jaded and dulled by time. Small lines crept at the corners of her mouth and eyes when she smiled. She wasn't the kid he remembered from class, but then, he was no longer a kid either. Both of them had been changed by time and circumstance. He wondered what circumstance could weigh so heavily on her that she actually seemed to shrink.   
  
"We never did get that first date did we Seaborn?" Samantha broke the stillness.  
  
Sam managed a weak half smile. "As I remember it, you stood me up."  
  
Samantha motioned to a chair. "What else do you remember about me? Certainly that I'm no assassin, no terrorist."  
  
"I remember you to be an opinionated, hard ass who liked her own way. I also remember that you were a rabid, liberal democrat, but people change."  
  
"Not that much," she grinned. "Sam I never meant to leave you hanging at the restaurant. But the day before, my aunt in England died and I went running over to Europe. Our date completely slipped my mind. Then when I got there...I decided to stay a while. Then I met Tom. We got married about a year later. Etcetera, etcetera, we got divorced and I moved back, to California."  
  
"Is that your standard story or one you made up just for me?"   
  
Samantha stared at her hands. "Pretty much the standard."  
  
"When are you planning to start telling me the truth?"  
  
"One day, when my life is far less complicated. But believe that I had nothing to do with the bombing, and that, had I the choice, I never would have stood you up."  
  
"How did you get involved with these guys? I mean Denver, San Juan, they're not exactly near to each other."  
  
"That, is a long story. Let's just say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What about you? I haven't heard a thing about you. I've read plenty, but you know... Did you really hire a hooker?" Samantha shook with uncontrolled laughter. "I mean Sam, I know you don't get much but still, that's low."  
  
Seaborn threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable! We haven't talked in years and the first thing you ask me about is my relationship with a call girl."  
  
"A high priced call girl if I remember correctly." Samantha's eyes danced.  
  
"Funny. Look, here's the whole story..."  
  
--  
  
Chris Larabee flashed his pass at a tall, muscular guy guarding the front of a hallway. It had been a long time since he'd been in the Pentagon. Not that it had changed much in all those years. The halls were still wide, gray and barren save the few people scurrying down them.  
  
It had surprised him to hear that Butterfield had been expecting his call. He wasn't even sure that the man would remember him, right, not even he believed that. But at least his agents were in one piece, for the time being anyway. Buck would give him endless amounts of hell if JD came back with even a scratch.  
  
"Is it just me," he asked to no one in particular, "or do Vin and Ezra make a habit out of getting into perilous situations? And damn if they don't drag the kid in there with them. How the hell did Standish get a gun?" He was still muttering to himself when he met up with the tall lean Butterfield.  
  
"Hey Ron."  
  
"Hey Chris. It's been a long time."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Last time I saw you was at the funeral. I'm real sorry about Adam and Sarah. Sarah was so happy with you."  
  
"You didn't seem to like me much at the time."  
  
"Sarah was like a little sister to me. I was worried she would get hurt."  
  
"You were right."  
  
"Maybe, but not in the way I thought. You were a cocky little bastard Chris. I thought I would have to pick up the pieces after you got yourself killed. She was always happy though. Now," he changed the subject, sensing Chris was uncomfortable talking about his dead wife and son. "Why are you in DC?"  
  
"It's a long story."  
  
"We got time. Your boys aren't going anywhere until we sort this out."  
  
"Fair enough. It all started with a botched undercover job, kinda got worse from there. You see..."  
  
--  
  
Sam and Sam were talking amiably some two hours later when Butterfield finally returned. Coming in just behind him walked Chris Larabee, looking less than pleased. "I leave you all alone for twenty minutes!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Sorry, the bomb wouldn't wait. And you know, you can't really blame this on me. Ezra is the one who started the stampede with that little starter pistol of his. Does this mean I can leave now?"  
  
Butterfield nodded. "Correct. Chris filled me in on everything."  
  
"Everything?"  
  
"Everything," Chris repeated. "It was the only way I could get you out. Now that Ron knows we're on his side, he's invited us to help."  
  
"Chris and I go way back. His word, plus the fact that your files checked out, make me inclined to believe you. Our best people are working up the tattoo angle now."  
  
"What about Vin, Ezra and JD?"  
  
"We're going to release Vin and JD now, but Standish will take a bit longer. His having a gun creates a lot of red tape. Shouldn't be more than another hour though." Butterfield told her. "And it's not like his record is spotless to begin with."   
  
"We'll stick around till he's set," Chris said gruffly. "Honestly, that man has to make everything difficult. I checked us in at a hotel. You can wait for us there or whatever. You have my cell number."  
  
Seaborn frowned. "What do you say to a tour of the White House, up close and personal? I want to introduce you to some people you'll be corresponding with."  
  
"Sounds perfect."  
  
Butterfield nodded. "Fine. Let her out of the cuffs Browning." He and Chris promptly left the interrogation room.   
  
Browning, the tall, beefy agent who had been hovering around her all day grunted. He glared at Samantha. "You have been hanging around all afternoon you know that? It's gets annoying quick." Browning ignored her, reaching for her bound wrist. Walters merely smiled sweetly and stood up. "That's okay. I'm good." She stretched her arms above her head, neither arm bound by the encumbering metal wristband.   
  
She took in the look of surprise and started to hurry Sam out the door. Browning yelled incoherently when he realized that he was now bonded to the desk. He began to fish around his pockets. "Looking for these?" She dangled the cuff keys in front of her. "Don't worry, I'm sure someone will have a spare. You a have a pleasant afternoon now." She closed the door behind her, muffling the man's angry threats. "Jackass."   
  
Sam and Sam walked out to Seaborn's car. They got in and the presidential speechwriter turned the key in the ignition. They pulled from the parking spot. "I'm sorry Sam," she blurted out.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Everything. I'm sorry I can't tell you why I stood you up. I'm sorry that we met again under such circumstances, and I'm sorry that I couldn't do more today, to help."  
  
"Samantha stop. You can't go around feeling guilty for things you never could have prevented in the first place."  
  
"Of course I can feel guilty. I'm Catholic, it's a thing."  
  
--  
  
"Josh."  
  
"Donna."  
  
"Josh!" Donna inserted that extra little whine that always got Lyman's attention.  
  
"Donna."  
  
"You're ignoring me Josh."  
  
"You're right, I am."  
  
"But they're killers Josh!"  
  
Lyman turned. "Do you think that saying my name after every sentence is going to make more of a point? Cause I gotta tell ya, it's just irritating."  
  
"They're killers Josh. We're letting killers into the White House, do you realize how insane that is?" Moss failed to notice Sam and a tall, copper haired woman walking toward them.  
  
"Probably less insane then me standing here listening to you right now."  
  
"That's not funny. We're letting them in here, with guns, and God knows what else to help protect the President. Killers who just this afternoon nearly blew you all sky high. You know, with the bomb?"  
  
"Yes Donna I know. I was there. But remember, they're on our side. And to be fair, from what Butterfield told me, he only fired the gun so they could get to the bomb."  
  
"And you believed their story? Come on Josh, these whackos will say anything."  
  
"Most of these whackos don't have the CIA back them up."  
  
"As if that makes it any better. Tell me Joshua, have they ever killed anyone?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"There, do you see now? I'm not going to be able to work around them. I'll get all tongue tied and nervous and I'll put my foot right in my mouth."  
  
"Donna, you don't even know who these people are. And as for your foot, you do that every day anyway."  
  
"Yes, but not in front of people who know thirty-six different ways to kill me with their bare hands. I'll be jumpy."  
  
"That's caffeine Donna. Am I still having this conversation? Hey Sam. You're back."  
  
Donna turned to see Sam, with a mildly horrified expression on his face. Next to him stood a woman, about 5'8", with hazel eyes and copper colored hair. One corner of her mouth tugged up in a small smile.  
  
"Hi," she stuck out her hand. "I'm Donna Moss, assistant to Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman. That kind of makes me deputy, deputy huh?" She grinned.  
  
Josh groaned. "Enough with that joke! It's not funny."  
  
Donna ignored him. "And you are?"  
  
Samantha grabbed Donna's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "No one important. Just one of those killers it's insanity to let into the White House."  
  
"Eep." Donna squeaked and jumped behind Josh.  
  
Lyman laughed. "What? You think I'm going to be able to stop her if she knows thirty-six different ways to kill me with her bare hands?"  
  
"Not really, but I figure I can make a break for it while she's killing you."  
  
Then Donna noticed that Samantha was laughing. It wasn't even a creepy laugh, the kind of laugh that sent shivers up your spine, but a nice, hearty laugh. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"  
  
"I wasn't planning on it. The name's Samantha Walters. But give me a few days of following conversations like that and I might reconsider." Donna paled.  
  
Seaborn jabbed her lightly with his elbow. "Don't do that to Donna. She scares easy. You always did have a twisted sense of humor."  
  
"Like I said, some things never change." She and Sam said their farewells and moved off down the office. Samantha grabbed Seaborn's elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Are those two...?"  
  
"Who? Josh and Donna?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You mean like..."  
  
"Yeah like, you know..."  
  
"Together?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Do they even know...?"  
  
"That they're..."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"No. They're oblivious."  
  
"Too bad. They would be cute together."  
  
"Everyone knows it but them."  
  
"Look, as fun as this is, can we talk somewhere else? Somewhere more private."  
  
"Sure. My office is just over here." The two college friends went inside and shut the door. "What's up?"  
  
"The bomb set today was complicated, not just something that can be shipped and set on location. It's been bugging me all afternoon, and even Larabee was talking about it before we came out here."  
  
"So?"  
  
"What I'm trying to say is that it took time to set up. Whoever put it there did it after the sweep by Secret Service. And I would seriously doubt that after the sweep it was left unguarded. These terrorists have an in somewhere in your hierarchy."  
  
"You can't think..." Sam trailed off.  
  
"I do; we all do. The person that set that bomb was a member of the Secret Service."  
  
--  
  
McGarrey's office was noisier than usual. McGarrey, the entire senior staff, Butterfield, Samantha and the four Denver ATF agents were crammed inside. Ezra had managed to commandeer the one soft leather chair in the room. The others were left to stand or sit in rickety rolling chairs. Samantha placed herself strategically on the arm of Ezra's chair.  
  
"I don't believe that." Butterfield finally announced to the group.  
  
"Believe it," Chris, Samantha and Ezra said in unison.  
  
"My agents have been hand picked for this detail. For some Bartlett is their second president to protect. All of them have proven themselves loyal and honest. They wouldn't be a part of a terrorist attack."  
  
"Then how do you explain the bomb!" Samantha snapped.   
  
"Excuse me Hunter is it?" Toby piped up.  
  
"It's Walters."  
  
"Well it's Hunter on your file, so it's Hunter now. I think that agent Butterfield has a point. You are asking a lot for us to trust you at all. You, up to this point have not done anything to prove yourselves worthy of that trust. You don't know these men either. We do."  
  
Vin shot Samantha a questioning look. "Hunter?" he mouthed.   
  
"I'll explain later," she mouthed back.  
  
"Well a Poker player is only as good as his bluff," Ezra stated dryly. Most of the people in the room gave him an odd look. "I mean that this person, or persons would have to have a very good reputation in order to gain admittance into an area of such restriction." More blank stares. Only Ainsley and those who had been around the enigmatic southerner a great deal looked as though they knew what he had said.  
  
"He was saying that since the standards are set so high for secret service members, then this person would have to be an incredible talent to get past the screening process." Ainsley supplied.   
  
"Exactly. That you my dear, for putting my words into such an eloquently simple form." Ezra beamed at her.  
  
"Do you have any new leads on the tattoo angle?" Leo queried.  
  
"We're still working on it, but we should have it narrowed down soon. We'll need you to identify the tattoo," Butterfield nodded at Samantha.   
  
"I hate to be the one bringing this up," CJ tapped her pen against a notepad, "but what are we going to tell the president. He has a lot of guest speaking appearances this week. HE won't want to cancel them."  
  
That was Bartlett's greatest attribute, and greatest flaw in a nutshell. He hated to disappoint people he made promises to, a certain rarity in a politician. Unfortunately, it also meant that he rarely listened to anyone once his mind was made up.  
  
"You can't exactly command the leader of the free world to stay home," Josh sighed.  
  
"We could always tell him the damn things have been cancelled," Toby remarked dryly.  
  
Leo snorted. "He's scatterbrained Toby, not stupid. What's on his plate this week anyway? Sam?"  
  
"What?" Again, two voices responded. Samantha blushed; it was reflexive.  
  
"Seaborn."  
  
"He's doing the Sierra Club annual fundraiser tonight. And we rescheduled the forum for Friday. Little things other than that. A meeting with Hoynes tomorrow." Sam flipped his pocket organizer shut.  
  
Butterfield sighed. Then he looked over at Chris and the others. "So, how do you all feel about black tie?"   
  
--  
  
Samantha, CJ, Ainsley and Donna shared a limo to the Sierra Club fundraiser. Behind them in another car was the president and Leo with Ron Butterfield. Ezra was in the limo behind them with Josh, Sam, Toby and Charlie, the president's aide. Chris and Vin were already stationed inside the building along with a dozen other Secret Service. JD, a computer and electronics whiz kid, stayed behind to work the search on the rogue agent.  
  
Earlier that afternoon, both Samantha and JD had identified the eerie snake tattoo as belonging to a anti-government group out of Alabama. They believed that the democrats were slowly taking away all the rights of the people and that they needed to be stopped at all costs. Two bombings of government buildings were already associated with the group, although nothing had been proven. JD had his work cut out for him. The group, known as the Liberty Swords was extremely close knit and little was known about its members.  
  
Samantha breathed deeply. She was about to step out of a limo into one of the fanciest ballrooms in all of DC. Not to mention that she was being associated with the President of the United States. She nervously smoothed the skirt of her long black dress.  
  
"Nervous?" Donna asked.  
  
"No more than you when you found out who I was, but yeah, a bit. I'm afraid I'll trip over these high heels. Not used to wearing 'em."   
  
"You don't actually think these people will show up tonight do you?" Ainsley drawled in her peculiar southern drawl.  
  
"I'm not really sure at this point. These guys haven't exactly been conservative when it comes to assassination attempts. They like to do things in front of a lot of people, preferably with media watching."  
  
"There's a comforting thought. Lots of media types here tonight."  
  
"Well, hopefully we'll get lucky."  
  
Ainsley laughed nervously. "Hopefully they'll just bypass this little shindig and move on to some other venue of expression."  
  
That wasn't really what Sam had meant, but she let it slide. 'More like hopefully these guys will be dumb enough to strike when there are more than a dozen Secret Service agents around,' she thought. 'Too bad we had to go around Butterfield, but his head wasn't on straight. Please let this go right.'  
  
The limo drew to a stop, lurching Sam from her thoughts. She followed the other three women out of the stretch car, keeping her head down and walking quickly down the carpet. The one thing her new life had going for it was anonymity. She'd pissed off plenty of people in her time, and it wouldn't do for her face to be plastered across national television.  
  
She stayed on CJ's left side, away from the cameras and let the willowy woman eclipse her smaller frame. She passed Vin on the way in and gave him a slight nod. The sharpshooter nodded back. 'Damn. That boy looks fine in a tux.' Sam thought to herself. Vin had donned a well fitting tux and pulled back his curly brown hair, revealing a perfectly square jaw. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anything remotely out of place.  
  
The party was alive with people. Sam recognized wealthy WASP aristocrats, old money dating back to Cornelius Vanderbilt, as well as various celebrities dedicated to a good image. She wondered how many of the Hollywood types actually cared about the environment. There were also politicians and those dedicated to the preservation of the natural America.   
  
CJ and Donna dispersed as more guests came in. CJ went off with some Senator Sam recognized from TV, but couldn't place. Donna ended up next to Lyman, talking his ear off about something. Samantha was left with Ainsley Hayes.  
Together they watched the President come in and begin his meet and greet. Soon, Sam knew, he would be ushered up into a private room on the third floor of the hotel, where he would wait until the time for his speech.  
  
"Have you ever met the president?" Sam asked. She figured it was an innocent enough question.  
  
"No, well I mean yes, well not really but I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I mean technically I have met the man, but it wasn't an experience I want to remember."  
  
"You don't want to remember meeting the president?"  
  
"Well the thing is, it was kind of embarrassing. See I was just a little drunk at the time, well no not really drunk more like high." She saw Sam's bewildered expression and hurried on. "Not the bad kind of high, but I mean the adrenaline type. I had just been on national TV and did a fairly decent job if I do say so myself, which I suppose I do. And then there was the fact that I wasn't wearing any clothes, but then I didn't expect him to come to my office. Well, it's not really an office, it's actually the steam trunk distribution venue. But I mean how could I expect there to be wet paint, I mean honestly wet paint, so I was waiting for some new clothes, and I was dancing and Sam came in, and well the president came down right after him and I sort of threw my drink, and now you think I'm completely insane."  
  
Samantha blinked. "Yes or no would have suited me just fine, but your way is good too."  
  
"He called me a sex kitten."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"The president. He said that most people thought I was hired because I'm blonde and republican and am often taken as a sex kitten, but that it obviously wasn't true. He said this while I'm wearing nothing but a terry cloth robe, am drinking, and dancing to 80's pop." Ainsley held up her hands and sort of squeaked. "I'm forever branded in his mind as a woman who doesn't wear clothes while working at the White House."  
  
"It can't be that bad."  
  
"You weren't there."  
  
Luckily, Samantha was saved from having to respond. Someone from the press came over and whisked Ainsley away, leaving Samantha to stand by herself at one end of the ballroom. She stood there for a long time, watching people pass her by and nursing a glass of champagne. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder. The champagne spilled over her hand as she spun around. It was Sam, grinning softly.  
  
"Dance Hunter?"  
  
She smiled and took his hand. "God, it has been so long since anyone has called me that. I'll have to get used to it again."  
  
"You finally about ready to tell me why you changed your name? The real reason."  
  
"This is hardly less complicated."  
  
"We probably won't get such a quiet time for the next few days."  
  
"This is quiet?"  
  
"No one is bothering us. So talk."  
  
"I didn't choose this Seaborn, honest to God I didn't. Changing my name was one of those fundamental things when the CIA is involved in making a new identity for you."  
  
Seaborn's eyes narrowed. "The CIA? Wha..."  
  
"I wasn't completely straight with you in college either Sam. You know my parents are dead, but they didn't leave me the money I used to pay for Princeton. I had a very, lucrative occupation. I was a jewel thief Sam."   
  
She plunged on, not wanting him to get a word in. "The reason I stood you up that night, was because the night before I was on a job, but my partner was a cad. He shot me and left me for dead. After the surgery and the hospital and the charges...I was being buried. The CIA offered me an out, and I wasn't stupid enough to turn that down. Do you hate me?"  
  
They stopped dancing. "I don't hate you. I'm utterly confused, but I don't hate you."  
  
"Good. I don't have enough friends left in the world to burn all my bridges. Now do me a favor."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Go dance with Ainsley."  
  
Sam blushed. "You've seen me with her for all of twenty minutes. Is it that obvious?" Samantha nodded solemnly. "All right then. I'll see you later."  
  
Ezra came up to her as soon as Sam left. He smiled pleasantly. "I assume that somewhere along the line you have learned the basic fundamentals of ballroom."  
  
"I think I can handle a waltz if that's what you mean." Her eyes meandered away from the southerner's face. Those intense emerald eyes made her loose all sense of sanity. She noticed the fine cut of the man's suit and the flawless fit. She raised an eyebrow. "This suit looks great on you. Where did you rent it?"  
  
"A Standish does not rent apparel."  
  
"Ezra, is this your tux?"  
  
"I believe it to be, yes."  
  
"You packed a tux?"  
  
"Never know when such a garment might be deemed necessary. Seems that my predisposition towards orderliness has come in handy in this case."  
  
"You're anal," she teased.  
  
In a rare lapse of decorum Ezra responded. "And you're a bitch, what's your point? Why do you feel that you must have such a coarse demeanor anyway?"  
  
"Cause if I'm not such a bitch then people might realize that I have no idea what I'm doing. I like control. This furnishes me with the limited supply I have in my life. I think the best I ever had was one foot on the ground you know? It's been so long since I've been anything but someone's puppet." Ezra didn't say anything. He knew how she felt, alone in the world. He'd felt like that for most his life. It was only in the last few years that he had learned what a real family was like.  
  
They danced for what seemed forever. They didn't talk, the two loners perfectly content in amiable silence. Then Sam noticed that Ezra wasn't paying attention anymore, after the third time he'd stepped on her feet. "What?"  
  
Standish's voice was grim. "The caterers with all the food and beverages seem to have dispersed from this area."  
  
"Huh?" Samantha wasn't really listening, letting herself get lost in the music.  
  
"Sam. Where did they go?"  
  
--  
  
JD rubbed his eyes. He'd been staring at the computer screen for the better part of four hours with virtually nothing to show for it. He had found out that two of the Secret Service agents were second cousins twice removed, but he really didn't think that it held much baring. He hit the keypad in frustration. The screen blinked, dumping him in some file he didn't recognize.   
  
The raven haired federal agent groaned and began trying to get out, but the system seemed to have taken a strong hold and was not about to let go. Realizing the system had locked up, JD started to read the article, hoping that the system would free itself up, because he dreaded the thought of rebooting the five or six systems he needed for his search.  
  
The file was a plea for a presidential pardon, dated a little over two years ago. The man had murdered a senatorial candidate three weeks before the elections. He'd been given the death sentence. He'd been in jail a year and a half when he sent Bartlett his plea. According to the file, Bartlett had rejected him and his plea.  
  
The screen bleeped and flashed and his cursor was once again working. Now interested, and needing a break from going over personel files, JD decided to investigate. There were two other files attached to the pardon plea. JD clicked on the most recent. It was a footnote to the man's record. A week after Bartlett rejected him, he had been found hung in his jail cell. JD felt a shiver run down his spine. He had died exactly two years ago to the day.  
  
The next attachment was the court records and the man's mug shot and fingerprints. Stan Macy, born 1958. The man was ugly, with deep, sunken eyes and a gray pallor to his skin. JD's eyes lit up. Macy claimed allegiance with the Liberty Swords, and took responsibility after his trial for a few of their bombings. Macy, he had seen that name before. His fingers flew across the keyboard.  
  
"Ha ha!" he yelled triumphantly. "Bingo. I got you." JD picked up the telephone and dialed Chris's cell. There was a message from his service that the phone was temporarily out of range. Not wanting to wait, he grabbed the rental keys off the desk and ran out of the building.   
  
--  
  
Larabee's keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. So far nothing had gone awry, but it was early days yet. He saw Vin seated on a balcony overlooking the ballroom, an ideal place for the sharpshooter should there be trouble. He spotted Ezra dancing with Sam near the back entrance. The two of them actually looked surprisingly calm. For the first time since he had seen them together they looked as if they weren't about to tear the other's throat out.  
  
JD burst into the room, panting and red faced. Larabee trotted over to him. The younger man looked decidedly out of place in jeans and a sweatshirt. JD saw Chris and hurried over. "I got him," he exclaimed. "I found out our rogue."  
  
"Who JD?"  
  
"An agent by the name of Craig Dwyer. He interrogated Ezra earlier. You see, his uncle, Stan Macy died two years ago today. It was Bartlett's first year in office and he turned down a plea for a pardon from the death sentence. Macy was Dwyer's stepmother's brother. They must have been real close."  
  
"Wait, wait, I think you skipped some details. If they knew all this about Macy, why did they hire Dwyer? And what's the connection to the Liberty Swords?"  
  
"Dwyer was hired before Macy was arrested and put in prison. The guy has had an excellent service record up till now. No one had any reason to question his loyalty. But here's the real kicker. Macy was a founding member of the Liberty Swords. Oh yeah and Dwyer was in the service before becoming Secret Service."  
  
"Do I want to know?"  
  
"You probably already do. He was a demolitions expert."  
  
"Good job JD. I'm gonna go track down Butterfield and the others. Bartlett is in a suite on the third floor. You have to take those service stairs that are down the hallway and to the left. Those are the only stairs up to his room besides the fire escape and that was cut off just above the second floor. Take my key card. The code is 3867. Get Bartlett the hell out of here. Drag him out if you have to. Find McGarrey and take him with you."  
  
That was the longest speech JD had ever heard Chris make. He found McGarrey making polite small talk with a few minority whips. He whispered the situation in the older man's ear. They raced out of the ballroom, JD repeating the key code over and over in his head. At the door to the stairs he punched it in, and began to take the stairs two at a time. McGarrey was hot on his heels.  
  
--  
  
Ezra pulled Sam away from the happy dancers. He spotted Larabee coming toward them from across the room. The two locked gazes and nodded to each other. Then Chris turned on his heel and disappeared. Ezra turned to Sam. "I believe the time has come for plan A. Shall we depart?"  
  
"I thought you'd never ask."  
  
They weaved their way through the ballroom and out the back door into a dark, empty hallway. Sam trotted behind the southerner, hiking her skirt up so as not to trip. Near the end of the hall was a service door, dead-bolted shut. Not deterred in the slightest, Ezra slipped an arrangement of picks from his inside breast pocket. He made short work of the lock.  
  
The storage space was mostly empty save a few boxes of detergent and other cleaning supplies. Sam and Ezra went to the rear of the stock room. Together they dragged a small, but heavy crate into the middle of the floor. The top slid off easily.   
  
Ezra gathered his weapons from the case and strapped them on. He sported a 9mm pistol in his shoulder holster and his .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver in an ankle holster. He took off the expensive suit jacket and slipped into a Kevlar vest and black windbreaker.  
  
Sam slipped behind a partition to change from her dress into back slacks and a black turtleneck. She too donned the heavy Kevlar vest and windbreaker. She holstered a 9mm at her hip and slid her backup weapon into a special holster at the small of her back. She stepped out and Ezra tossed her a walkie talkie.   
  
"Ready?" she asked.  
  
Ezra pulled back the barrel of his 9mm. "Let's do it."  
  
They were halfway down the hall when gunfire erupted from inside the ballroom. The spray came fast and furious from an automatic of some sort. Ezra held up one hand to stop Sam. He crept forward and silently twisted open the handle of the door. He opened it a crack. More than twenty men, all heavily armed had rushed into the room. They were now in a face off with Butterfield and the rest of his men. Unfortunately, the terrorists had no qualms about using guests as shields.   
  
Ezra twisted around to face Samantha. He closed the door as quietly as he could. "Stay here and listen." He jogged away.   
  
Samantha sighed, "I don't believe this."  
  
--  
  
JD slammed the door to the suite shut with such force that the air in the room rippled. "I think we need to find another way to get you out of here Mr. President. The stairs are most definitely out."  
  
Bartlett ignored JD and glowered at Leo. "What the hell is going on here? Who is he and why is he ordering me around? He's barely any older than Zoey." JD might have been offended, had he taken the time to think about it.  
  
He rushed around the room. Finally he stopped and nodded to himself. "The window. Definitely the window."  
  
"What is he talking about? Leo, what have you not been telling me?"  
  
"We may have a slight problem Mr. President. We decided it would be better not to concern you with it."  
  
"Concern me?" He repeated incredulously. "Leo, I am most assuredly concerned. And I am not going out that window."  
  
JD was practically hopping from foot to foot. They needed to go, now. He heard the sound of gunfire and wood splintering. Leo heard it too. There were yells from agents who had been guarding the door. He pushed Bartlett toward the propped window. "I don't think you have much of a choice at the moment sir."  
  
"Remind me that we need to have a little talk later Leo."  
  
"Yes sir Mr. President."  
  
The night was cloudy and the light of the stars couldn't penetrate its murkiness. Everything was a pitch, pine tar sort of black; thick enough to get stuck in and heavy enough to smell. The air smelled hot and damp and sweet. Nervous energy seemed to run through it like waves.  
  
JD lowered the fire ladder as quickly as he could. All three men trooped down the rickety metal staircase. JD had parked only a few blocks away and he could see the Four by Four from his vantage point high above the street. JD bumped into Leo. "I think we're stuck." Leo stated. There they were, two stories above the tarmac, with no more ladder.  
  
JD sighed. "I'll be right back." With that, he lowered himself as far he could, his legs dangling in the open air. Then he let go. He hit the pavement and let himself roll, just as Vin had taught him. His right ankle hurt like hell, but he was bruised rather than broken. He trotted to a half empty garbage bin and rolled it back under the steps. "Jump!" he called up.  
  
Bartlett looked over at Leo. "I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you slowly." Then he jumped, landing squarely among the trash. JD helped lever him out. Leo went next, he too landing safely. As Bartlett and JD were pulling him out of the trash two agents rushed around the side of the hotel.  
  
"Mr. President?"  
  
"Don't ask. What's going on?"  
  
Leo shook his head. "Tell him when he's in that car," he pointed to JD's, "and on his way back to the residency. Fuller, you go with Dunne and the president. Tony, you're with me."  
  
The president was ushered to the car and it drove away. Once it was out of sight Leo turned to the Secret Service agent. "All right, tell me everything."  
  
"Well sir, the building is on complete lockdown, but the cameras are still running. No one can get out or in, because, according to the terrorists, the entire building is wired. They're in a stand off with our boys right now. Doesn't look good sir. No one is backing down, but they have hostages. Needless to say they're in a temper having misplaced the president."  
  
"I'll bet. Who do they have?"  
  
"Donna Moss."  
  
--  
  
Josh lunged after her, but Sam and Toby pulled him back. Josh was pale, his eyes wide. Donna was struggling and whimpering softly, the leader's enormous arm snaked about her neck. The gun pressed to her temple didn't help either.  
  
"Son of a bitch! Where the hell do you have him stashed?" The terrorist growled.  
  
"Who are you talking about?" Butterfield responded, his voice icy and cool.  
  
"The president. He wasn't in his suite." Chris silently thanked God for JD. "Look, we came here with a specific intent. The Liberty Swords are here for the rights of the people. This government is no better than a tyrannical dictatorship! Well that ends here, tonight. I'd say there enough politicians here to put a serious dent in our Congressional population. The Liberty Swords aren't afraid to die for their cause. Unless Bartlett shows up in this room in the next ten minutes, a very powerful bomb is going to blow us all to kingdom come."  
  
Chris caught sight of the slight movement up on the balcony. Vin. He locked onto the tracker and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not yet. They had to give Ezra and Sam time.  
  
--  
  
"He's completely lost his marbles," Sam told Ezra. "Says there is a bomb big enough to blow the whole building and it's set to go off in," she checked her watch, "four minutes and twenty seconds."  
  
"If he wants to kill everyone the bomb will be below the ballroom. The basement to this building isn't used for anything but storage. I'll bet he has it attached to a support beam. I think it's time for plan B."  
  
Samantha groaned and followed him. "I hate plan B!"  
  
The basement was dark, damp and cold. Barren cement walls lined by racks of unused equipment surrounded them. And there, right in the middle of the room was a man crouched behind a box no bigger than a music chest she'd had as a child. A man knelt beside it. Ezra darted across the room, keeping low.  
  
Sam took a deep breath. She gave one rack a nudge. The metal creaked and the man looked over in her direction. Sam remained hidden behind the rack. The Liberty Sword drew a gun and moved cautiously toward her. Samantha didn't move until he was nearly on top of her. She struck with a dexterity born out of years of experience. Her foot lashed out, sending the pistol skittering over the floor. Sam dropped, sweeping the man's legs. He hit his head on the ground and lay still.  
  
Ezra went for the box. A small, luminescent timer stared back at them. Luckily, the timer had yet to start. "Five minutes on the clock. Ezra, tell me you know what you are doing."  
  
"Somewhat." Sam rolled her eyes as Standish carefully unscrewed the clear plastic top. "C4. These people are moving up in the world. At least it's more stable than Nitro. Damn."  
  
"Damn? Damn is not good."  
  
"They didn't want anyone messing with this obviously. The timer just went down to three minutes and counting."  
  
Ezra lifted the timer box off the explosives. Four wires, red, green, back and purple ran into the explosives. "Yank 'em and let's get out of here."  
  
"That would be highly ill advised," Ezra told her. "If we pull the wrong wire this bomb will be going up long before it is scheduled. And if you don't mind, I like my body parts where they are, thank you."  
  
"So which wire?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"You're not sure?"  
  
"Well this isn't like connect the dots! There is a certain amount of skill required here. Allow me a moment to examine the device."  
  
"We don't really have a moment here Ez. You got one minute thirty. Make a pick."  
  
Ezra began to sweat and he chewed his lower lip. "I can't seem to find the detonator. If I could just find the wire connected to the detonator we'd be home free. It's not the black, I know that..."  
  
"Twenty seconds Ez. Pick a damn wire."  
  
"I'm thinking." He snapped.  
  
"Think faster!"  
  
The timer hit the single digits. Ezra latched onto what he thought was the right wire and closed his eyes. Sam turned away, flinching. Ezra pulled.  
  
The southerner blinked. The dial stopped at four seconds. He let out a long breath. "That was far too close."  
  
Sam brought her breathing back down to normal. "Ezra."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why'd you pick green?"  
  
"Honestly?" Samantha nodded. "Green is my favorite color." Standish stood and walked away. Samantha choked, unable to say anything.  
  
"What about the rest of the bombs? The ones on the doors." Sam said when she finally got her voice back.   
  
Ezra held up a small device. "This should cover that. It's a remote detonation unit. We can disarm the bombs with it. Look, we need to work fast. Those guys upstairs aren't going to wait forever. I'll go see if I can't even the odds a little while you work on those doors."  
  
"Check. I'll have the cavalry here in no time." Ezra nodded and headed back up the stairs. Sam took out her walkie talkie and set it to a wide frequency. A weak. Crackly voice answered her. She had to work quickly. She too made a run for the steps.  
  
--  
  
Josh watched helplessly at the terrorist holding Donna. HE had stopped trying to get to her, but still watched her like a hawk. The guests all cowered near one corner of the room. He heard some in tears. Sam, CJ and the others were all sitting tight. Josh wondered how much longer the stale mate could drag on.  
  
Then he saw a movement at the back of the room. Standish had come back and was making his way around the fringes of the room, hidden among the shadows and behind tables. He was positioning himself for a better shot.  
  
Standish raised his weapon, calling out, "I suggest that it would be in your best interests to let her go sir." The terrorist spun, his eyes shooting sparks.   
  
"What are you going to do Standish? The moment I go down is the moment this building becomes one giant ball of flames. Are you ready to die Standish? To kill all these people?"  
  
"No," he responded evenly. "But I don't think you are either. If you're so comfortable with the idea of your mortality, then why do need hostages. You're too much of a coward to face us without your shield. Easy to be brave when it's not your life."  
  
The man's face went crimson. "I am not a coward! The Liberty Swords are men of righteous courage. We are brave enough to stand against tyranny. I will show you my cowardice!" His eyes were wild, as if he'd lost all semblance of sanity. He threw Donna to the side and fired wildly at Standish.  
  
Josh jumped for Donna, wrapping her in his arms and covering her. He could feel her heaving sobs. Standish too dove for the floor. "Now!" he yelled.  
  
Vin dropped the man the moment he opened fire, sending a bullet straight through his head. As soon as Ezra yelled, Secret Service, SWAT team members and local police swarmed through the doors of the ballroom. It seemed the rest of the Liberty Swords were not quite so anxious to die. Outnumbered and outgunned, they slowly placed their weapons on the floor. A wave of relief ran through the room; it was over.  
  
--  
  
End to Chapter 3  
  
I think I'll add one more little chapter to sort of wrap things up. Thanks for reading.  
  
  
  
  



	4. Parting Ways

Chapter 4: Parting Ways  
Author's note: Our friends from the WW and the Mag 7 aren't done quite yet. I thought this up after I submitted Chapter 3. Just a little conclusion too, to wrap everything up. I'll leave it at that, because if you're reading this you've probably already read the other three chapters. Disclaimer still applies.  
  
~~  
  
Ezra Standish slowly peeled himself off the floor where he'd thrown himself during the shooting. He brushed off the black jacket and stared at the wall behind him. He gulped. Where he had been standing moments earlier, the wall was now riddled with bullet holes. "That was too close," he murmured.  
  
He was still staring at the wall when Josh Lyman, the president's Deputy Chief of Staff strode over. "Hey!" Ezra turned to see a red faced Lyman glaring at him. "You could have gotten Donna killed."  
  
"But it appears that such a unfortunate incident did not take place. Young Miss Moss is quite well and quite whole."  
  
Lyman swung at the southerner. Ezra ducked the punch easily. "I believe I'll let that slide Mr. Lyman, as emotions are running high at the moment. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with Agents Butterfield and Larabee." Ezra walked smoothly by. Josh looked like he might run after him, but Seaborn stopped him.  
  
"Josh. Josh relax. Donna is fine, not a scratch on her."  
  
"He could have gotten her killed Sam." Lyman's voice was little more than a pained whisper.  
  
"True, but he didn't. He knew exactly how to bait the man and did it to perfection. Donna probably owes him her life. Now go over and see her." Josh complied, the fight gone out of him. Seaborn turned his attention to the four federal agents talking by the overturned buffet table.  
  
Leo McGarry, Vin Tanner, Chris Larabee and Ron Butterfield were discussing the events of the evening. "So it's over then," Leo commented.  
  
"Yes Leo it is. We've got the terrorists and we know the Secret Service agent involved in the whole mess." Butterfield shook his head somberly. "I just can't believe that my own man tricked me. He was a good agent. Shame."  
  
"He took us all for fools Ron, nothing you did was wrong. But I'm confused, how did these guys get in here loaded with weapons?" Leo asked.  
  
Vin fielded the answer. "Apparently they were hired on as caterers. The vans all were loaded down by food and trays. Dwyer was in charge of doing a search of the vans. He conveniently overlooked the fact that the vans all had false paneling, which is where they stored the guns. The materials for the bombs were brought in crates disguised as food. Sort of clever when you think about it."  
  
"A little too clever for my taste," Larabee grunted.   
Ezra trotted over to the group. "So sorry for interrupting, but where is Dwyer. I have been looking forward to thoroughly berating the man myself. I don't see him among the miscreants. Has he already been taken in?"  
  
Chris frowned. "What do you mean he's not here? Of course he's here."  
  
"I apologize Mr. Larabee, but Dwyer is most assuredly not among these contemptuous villains."  
  
Samantha Hunter rushed over, sliding to a stop on the parquet floor. "Browning isn't here either."  
  
Leo blinked. "What do you mean not here?"  
  
"Not here," Samantha snapped. "As in absent, not present, not in the general vicinity. He's not here and neither is Dwyer."  
  
"Browning," Butterfield mumbled. "Tall, dark hair, built like a Mac truck?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Vin glanced at Larabee, a sense of panic rising in his chest. "Cowboy." Chris nodded and Vin started to run for the exit. Chris whistled. Vin paused. Larabee tossed the keys to his borrowed car to the sharpshooter. Vin caught them and ran on.   
  
Samantha and Ezra started after him. "Get going. Ron and I will be right behind you. I told JD to bring him to the residence." Sam and Ez disappeared into the night. No one wanted to think about what the absence of the two agents could mean.  
  
--  
  
JD felt out of place in the company of those two men. McGarry and Bartlett who knew so much more than he about life. He thought they might know more than he ever did. McGarry had fought in Vietnam, a war he hadn't even seen through a babe's eyes. And Bartlett, Bartlett was the Commander and Chief. He ran the country. JD felt like a kid around them, more so than he ever did with any of the Seven.  
  
Bartlett watched him quietly and it was enough to make JD nervous. They waited together in the darkened room for some sign from Larabee or Leo. His unwavering stare was enough for JD to wish that Buck was there right then, to tease him and distract him. "I think," he started quietly, "I think everything will work out."  
  
Bartlett cocked his head to one side. "What makes you say that? That was utter chaos."  
  
"You would have stayed," JD remarked.  
  
"Maybe. Chaos is a prerequisite in the White House. I think I'm used to it by now."  
  
"Normally your chaos isn't further complicated by weaponry."  
  
"True. And I must say, Abbey would wring my neck if I got shot again this year. She's a doctor and the whole thing seriously upsets her."  
  
"Really?" JD smiled, feeling marginally more at ease. "I wonder why?" Bartlett was just a man. A powerful man, but a man just the same.  
  
"How long have you worked with Larabee anyway?"  
  
JD shrugged. "Not sure, two years maybe?"  
  
"So then you know your colleagues fairly well?" JD nodded. "Then tell me, what's your take on the situation?"  
  
"Sir, we tend to have a penchant for getting into sticky situations. We all know how to work in tight spots. We've all had to do our share of quick talking. The terrorists are not the problem. They're hoods, just like any other. The situation tonight...the thing I don't like about it is that we really don't know who is on our side, and who is just pretending. I do have complete faith in Chris and Vin and Ezra though. They'll get through, and they'll get everyone else through with them."  
  
Their conversation might have continued, but there was a soft thunk from outside in the hall. JD immediately drew his weapon, every nerve in his body on edge. "Stay here Mr. President. Actually, get down if you can." The hallway was empty and dark. JD tried the switch, but the lights remained out. He felt the first drop of perspiration roll down his neck. His heart hammered inside his chest and he stepped out into the darkness.  
  
--  
  
Samantha, Vin and Ezra fairly flew out of the sedan when they reached the residence. There was not a light in the place lit. The three people drew their weapons. Sam wondered how much farther behind Chris and the others were. Vin reached the front door a step before the others.  
  
He pressed lightly against the intricately carved wood and the door swung open. Its hinges creaked, and the moonlight cast eerie shadows on the floor. Vin went first, crouched low, his eyes sweeping down the hall. Sam and Ezra trotted after him. A few yards farther on the hallway split. Vin motioned with his head to the right, then pointed at Sam and Ezra and down the left corridor. Ezra nodded. They split, heading in opposite directions.  
  
Sam clipped Ezra's heels as they moved from room to room. There was no sign of anyone in the house. Not a voice, not the sound of a TV, and no JD. The entire building appeared vacant. They entered the last room on the end of the hallway. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor.  
  
Ezra dropped his weapon to his side. "Where the hell is JD?" he murmured. "Hunter, have you seen anything?"  
  
"I've been right behind you the entire time Standish. What would I have seen that you didn't? All I've seen for the last five minutes is the back of your head," she snapped. She was tired and worried. Her head resumed its familiar staccato beat.  
  
"No need for sarcasm. A simple no would suffice." A soft thump sounded from the floor above them. Samantha and Ezra looked at each other. "Upstairs. Perhaps young Mr. Dunne is entertaining the President with his impression of a clown."  
  
"If he is I'm gonna shoot the kid," Sam grumbled. "You first."  
  
The upstairs view differed little from the scene on the first floor. Everything was dark, and everything was quiet. Halfway down the corridor two double doors were swung out into the hall. They made their way to them.  
  
Sam took position on the left side of the door and Ezra took his on the right. With a tight nod they burst into the room, weapons drawn. Inside, JD was backed up near the far wall, his gun up, and his body between Dwyer and Bartlett. Bartlett's face was so red he looked like he might pop. JD was pale and sweating.  
  
Dwyer, half hidden behind a bookshelf, aimed his weapon at JD. His arm was wrapped around Agent Fuller's neck. The younger man's head bled profusely, and he looked as though he might collapse completely at any moment. Dwyer's eyes were wild, the moonlight reflecting off their glassy surface from the porch doors to his left. His gaze flickered over to Ezra and Sam.  
  
"Move into the center of the room and place your firearms on the ground." Neither Sam nor Ezra moved. "I said place your guns on the floor now!" He screamed.   
  
"The moment you fire that weapon you will be shot," Ezra informed the man. "I would suggest that you weigh your options carefully and not make any rash decisions."  
  
"You really think I'm that stupid? In order to kill me you'll have to shoot my shield, and I really can't see you doing that. And at this moment I am feeling just stressed enough to try taking you all down. So put your weapons on the floor and move to the center of the room."  
  
Ezra read her gaze. Sam blinked slowly. Ezra felt mildly taken aback. She had a plan, he was sure of it. He nodded. "All right. Nice and easy now." He laid his nine mm on he floor. Sam laid hers next to it. He took a few steps to the right, partially blocking Dwyer's view of Bartlett. Sam stood just in front of him.  
  
"I won't hurt you. I just want Bartlett."  
  
"Bartlett ain't coming," JD said with more certainty than he felt.  
  
"He hasn't done anything to you Dwyer."  
  
"What the hell do you know Standish? You're nothin but a dirty agent past his prime. The FBI didn't want you. Now you're stuck with a bunch of third rate ATF agents. Bartlett killed my Uncle. I want retribution."  
  
"Your uncle?" Bartlett repeated, surprised and more than a little confused.  
  
"The President didn't kill anyone Dwyer. Stan Macy committed suicide in his jail cell." JD said.  
  
"No!" He shouted, his finger tightening around the trigger. "No. He never would have done that if it hadn't been for him. You wouldn't grant his pardon. Now he's dead."  
  
An expression of recognition crossed Bartlett's face. "Stan Macy was your uncle?" Dwyer nodded, suddenly looking like a little kid about to cry. "Son, Stan Macy murdered a Congressional candidate."  
  
"It wasn't his fault! His head was all screwed up, and he thought that man was trying to take away his freedom."  
  
Bartlett was angry again. "You think that the man's stand on birth control and school vouchers warranted his murder?"  
  
"He didn't know what he was doing! But you did. You signed his death warrant then and there."  
  
"Excuse me for not feeling extraordinary amounts of sympathy for the man."  
  
The two men argued back and forth, each becoming angrier by the moment. They had to act before one or both completely lost their heads. Samantha lifted her hands to her hips, a simple gesture. But Ezra realized what she was really doing. Sam raised her jacket above the waistline of her pants. There, in the holster at the small of her back was her auxiliary weapon.  
  
Then his eye caught a movement by the door. Vin crept inside, long hair falling down over his shoulders. He nodded to Ezra. Standish leaned forward ever so slightly and whispered so that only Sam could hear. "Vin's here. On three we move." Sam tensed.  
  
"One," his hand reached forward for the gun. "Two," Vin readied himself behind the bed. "Three."  
  
Vin leapt up from his hiding place. "Freeze!" he yelled. Dwyer spun around at the voice firing once wildly. Sam dove to the right and Ezra yanked the gun from its holster. Dwyer had left his left side open and vulnerable. Ezra was dimly aware of JD pulling Bartlett to the floor, and Vin diving back behind the bed.  
  
He cocked the trigger and fired. Everything around him seemed to move in slow motion. Never had it taken longer for a bullet to reach its target. When it did, Dwyer jerked. Fuller slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor. The pistol slipped from Dwyer's grasp.  
  
No one moved for a long time. They watched in disbelieving silence as Dwyer bled out in front of them. His eyes remained open and he stared fixedly at the ceiling. Eventually Vin went to Fuller and dragged him away. JD helped lever Bartlett off the ground. Sam propped herself up on an elbow. After Dwyer drew his last breath, they all left the residence together.  
  
Ten marked squad cars and a handful of others lined the drive. Vin handed Fuller off to a paramedic. Butterfield rushed forward to lead the president into the White House. Larabee walked over to his agents. "Where is Dwyer?"  
  
Ezra pointed back at the residence. "The man is still inside. Not to worry, he won't be moving any. Regrettably, he did not survive our latest encounter. What of Mr. Browning?"  
  
Larabee chuckled. "We caught him on his way out the gate. He cut the power to the house and was trying to be gone by the time anyone got here. Wasn't too bright, but I reckon the lure of five hundred grand would make fools of us all. You all can go inside or whatever, but don't leave. I got a felling we'll be here for a while."  
  
Ezra, JD and Vin walked away from a group of oncoming reporters. Samantha found Sam Seaborn at the fringe of the crowd. He waved and she went over to him. "You're alive," he stated dumbly. His hands were shoved deep inside his pockets and he stared at a spot on her forehead just above her eyes.  
  
"Better than bein dead."  
  
"So this is what you do."  
  
"Not by choice. I don't like this. Hell, I don't even like guns, but it's all part of my deal."  
  
"But this is it right?" Sam questioned. "This job is your out. You're free to do as you like now right? This was the last time."  
  
Samantha's eyes were glassy. "Yeah," she whispered, "the last time."  
  
--  
  
"Damn it! Damn it all to hell!" Samantha would have thrown the phone across the room, except that it wasn't hers to throw. So she set it down on the desk and threw herself onto the couch. She placed her head in her hands. The pounding in her head was no longer the beat of a drum; it was a drill boring through her skull.  
  
Seaborn looked up from a file. "I'm almost done. We can go to lunch in ten minutes, relax."  
  
"It's not lunch Sam. I called my contact in the CIA and he gave me some bad news."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"They have a new gig all lined up for me. I'm supposed to be in New York at the end of next week. Damn it." Sam cursed under her breath. Her fingers massaged her temples.  
  
"What are you talking about? I thought you said that you were done, that it was over. No more jobs. I thought they were letting you out to live your own life."  
  
"It's not over!" She exclaimed. "It's done for you! It's done for Larabee and the others. It's not over for me. It will never be over for me! Don't you get it?" She jumped up from the couch and started to pace.  
  
"They lied Sam. I'm just a puppet they hold all the strings to. The lied and God damn it I didn't see it coming. Why the hell does this surprise me?"  
  
Seaborn put the folder on his desk and went over to his friend. He put his arms around her shoulders. "You believed them because you wanted to. It'll work out."  
  
Samantha stiffened and drew away. "It's not gonna work itself out. I'm stuck here for the rest of my life. I believed them even when I knew...I knew. Forget lunch. I need some time alone, to think."  
  
Samantha grabbed her coat and headed out of the office. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she hurried past Donna and Ainsley without saying a word. "The presentation is at three Hunter!" Sam held her hand up in acknowledgement, but didn't slow her pace.  
  
Seaborn sat down at his desk. He flipped the file open again, but the words seemed to all flow together into one messy sentence. He couldn't concentrate. After a few minutes of staring at a blank screen he gave up. He grabbed his coat from its hook. He knew what he had to do.  
  
He caught up with Bartlett in a break between meetings. Mrs. Landingham ushered him inside. "Sam. We weren't scheduled for a meeting were we?"  
  
"No sir. I'm here unofficially sir."  
  
"Unofficially? What is this about Sam?"  
  
"As you know, Samantha Hunter was an intrical part of putting an end to these terrorist threats. I know you're awarding all the ATF agents medals this afternoon sir."  
  
"That's right. A small token of appreciation and some good PR. The nation needs heroes Sam. These men are heroes, now we're recognizing it. Don't worry though, Hunter will be included."  
  
"It's not that sir. I was wondering if you might do me a favor. You see, the thing with Sam is..."  
  
--  
  
"...and I would like to commend you all for your brave service," Bartlett announced. "What you did was above and beyond the call of duty. Usually I pay people to protect me, but you did this all your own." Larabee's team fairly glowed at the president's kind words. Even Ezra, who was as stoic as they came, let his infamous Poker face slide a little.  
  
They stood in a straight line down the middle of the Oval Office facing the President's desk. Sam stood at the far end of line. She couldn't bring herself to be enthusiastic, even though she knew she should be. It wasn't every day or every person that was personally thanked by the President of the United States.   
  
Bartlett leaned over his desk to retrieve the medals. He placed them over each man's head and shook his hand, starting with Larabee. "For your quick thinking and gathering these men together." Vin came next, "For your courage in a dire situation and an impeccable sense of timing." Then there was Ezra, "For laying all the cards on the table and being a very good shot. JD was the last of team 7 to be awarded a medal. "For saving my life and taking out the trash," Bartlett's eyes glimmered with humor.  
  
Then Bartlett turned to Samantha. She steeled herself, getting ready to thank the man and smile even though she felt like screaming. Bartlett watched her for a long time. He didn't talk or move and Sam started to squirm under his scrutiny.  
  
Bartlett didn't give her a medal. When he finally stopped staring he retrieved a small rolled piece of paper from his desk. He offered it to Sam and she took it, but looked confused. Seaborn just smiled. "For you."  
  
All the ATF and the presidential staff wanted a look at the paper. No one knew what was on it but for the president and Sam. Samantha unrolled it slowly. She read it slowly and carefully so as not to miss a word. Her eyes filled with tears.  
  
"What on earth could make you so tearful?" Ezra inquired.  
  
Samantha took her hand away from her mouth. "I don't believe it. It's a full presidential pardon for all my, uh, indiscretions."  
  
Seaborn stepped forward. "Thought you might get more use out of that than a medal. Was I correct?"  
  
"Sam! You're wonderful!" Hunter's face split into a wide smile. She threw her arms around his neck. "I can't believe you did this."  
  
Sam whispered in her ear. "Go and live the way you want to. It's your choice now, no one else's."  
  
Bartlett smiled and said, "Sure. I grant the pardon and my speechwriter gets the credit. That's typical."  
  
Sam withdrew herself from Sam. "Oh, thank you too Mr. President." For a moment she looked like she might hug him too, but settled for a firm handshake instead. "You have no idea what this means."  
  
"I think I might. Sam was very forthcoming with your story. And I managed to get my hands on your CIA file."  
  
"Oh thank you so much." She turned to Sam. "Now it's over."  
  
--  
  
Two weeks later...  
  
Sam Hunter stepped into the ATF offices in Denver. She looked around for a familiar face, and, not seeing one, proceeded down the hall toward Larabee's office. She had been back in Denver for just over a week. It seemed like much longer. The events in DC seemed very surreal and very far away. It was odd to wake up and not have to be someplace or have someone to report to. Odd, but pleasant at the same time.  
  
She rapped lightly on the solid oak door. A muffled voice from inside called for her to enter. Her eyes widened as she saw the bountiful presence in the room. All seven agents that she had met some three weeks earlier were seated in the office. Larabee was seated behind his desk, his feet propped up on the tabletop. Buck hung close to JD, thrilled to have his friend back and in one piece. Nathan and Josiah stood at the far wall, looking very quiet and serious. Vin appeared to be half asleep, but she could see him grin. Ezra's face revealed nothing.  
  
"What did I do now?"  
  
"Nothing," Chris stated.  
  
"So you're not arresting me?"  
  
He smiled thinly. "Wasn't plannin on it. Why, you do something wrong?"  
  
"Nope, forget I said a thing. So what is it then?"  
  
"Sit." It was a command and she treated it as such, reflexively jumping into the nearest seat she could find.  
  
"You may have noticed that our team isn't exactly, regulation."  
  
Sam snorted. "That's putting it mildly. You all are about as far from Kosher as a pig in a spit. I think the polite thing would be to say that you're eclectic."  
  
"Be that as it may we are very affective in what we do. You seem to fit in quite well with that dynamic."  
  
"What our infamous leader is attempting to get across is that he has already cleared the request with the brass upstairs. Now it's up to you." Ezra interrupted.  
  
"Thank you Ez, but I can talk for myself. Look Hunter, we've discussed it long and hard and we want to make you an offer." He didn't seem to notice Sam shaking her head softly. "We wish to offer you a posi..." His voice trailed off.  
  
Sam shook her head vehemently. "Stop, stop, stop, please. Don't ask me that."  
  
"Why not?" JD queried, sounding mildly hurt.  
  
"Cause if you ask I am bound to say yes. And I'm not sure I want to say yes. You all are the finest group of men I have ever met in my life. It would be an honor to work along side you."  
  
"I think I'm missing your problem then missy." Buck told her.  
  
"I've been here before, I've done what you do. Not exactly the same, but pretty close, and I've done it for a lot of years. And it was never my decision. If I say yes then I am right back where I came from, where I wanted to get away from. I'm afraid that in time I'll feel like I never got out, and I don't want to resent this place. For the first time in my life I get to choose my own path. Let me choose it. Who knows? It may very well lead me right back here, but I need to walk that path just the same. Can you understand?"  
  
Larabee's head fell so that it was resting against his chest. He sighed. "I think we can respect your decision. Don't think it mean's we'll stop asking."  
  
Sam managed a small, thin smile. "I wouldn't want it any other way." She stood up from her chair. "I'll be goin now. I took a job as a karate teacher downtown. I'll be around, don't you worry. So, bye."  
  
Sam headed back down the hall to the elevator. The agents filtered slowly from Larabee's office. Vin and Ezra watched the elevator doors slide shut. "Think she'll be back Ez?"  
  
"I doubt very much indeed that Ms. Hunter is the type to fade quietly into the night. Yes Vin, I believe she will be back someday."  
  
THE END  
  
Well, that's the end of it. Hope you enjoyed the story, the crossover and Sam. Maybe I'll try Mag 7 and JAG next... Review if you want to, thanks.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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